


Song as Old as Rhyme

by LoveActuallyFan



Series: Beauty and the Beast [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU, Actor AU, Alcohol Abuse, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Art, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Cover Art, Digital Art, Drawing, Drug Abuse, Fame, Fanart, Father/Son Incest, Heavy Angst, Illustrated, Incest, Inspired by Music, London, Los Angeles, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Paris (City), Porn With Plot, Rottweiler!Smaug, Sequel, Song Lyrics, Tale as Old as Time, actor!Legolas, actor!Thranduil, actress!Tauriel, agent!Saruman, assistant!Galion, director!Thranduil, manager!Gimli, screenwriter!Elrond, screenwriter!Thranduil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-05-19 08:21:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5960571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveActuallyFan/pseuds/LoveActuallyFan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4489836/chapters/10207029">Tale as Old as Time</a>. An Alternate Universe (Actor AU) Thrandolas fan fiction based on a series of songs.</p>
<p>Cover art and Illustrations by <a href="http://plotbunniesincolour.tumblr.com/">plotbunniesincolour</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Which Witch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And it's my whole heart  
> Weighed and measured inside  
> And it's an old scar  
> Trying to bleach it out  
> And it's my whole heart  
> Deemed and delivered a crime  
> I'm on trial, waiting 'til the beat comes out  
> I'm on trial, waiting 'til the beat comes out
> 
> Chained and shackled, oh  
> All unraveled, oh  
> It's a pity, oh  
> Never to return  
> But I never learn  
> It's a pity, oh  
> Chained and shackled, oh  
> All unraveled, oh  
> It's a pity, oh  
> Say I won't return  
> But I never learn  
> It's a pity, oh
> 
> \- [Which Witch](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EJJ0E0akQGA) (Florence + the Machine)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***pokes head around the door***
> 
> Here it is. I would very much appreciate any feedback you would be willing to give! Someone recently mentioned to me that they never used to comment on any of the works they read here because they thought they would be a nuisance to the author. This is absolutely not true. We love any and all comments, even if it is just a 'Hey, I read this!" You will never be annoying me, or any of us, if you choose to comment. Never. I love, LOVE, incorporating ideas from readers into chapters. So please, feel free to suggest ideas should you have any. 
> 
> I will be posting a new chapter every Friday. Thank you for all the interest shown on the update chapter on TAOAT. I sincerely thank you all for showing some support. This is for you.
> 
> I highly suggest you listen to [Which Witch](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EJJ0E0akQGA) by Florence + the Machine while reading this chapter. It's beautiful and haunting, and I have taken much inspiration from it for the plot line. 
> 
> Enjoy x

 

Strong hands were around Legolas’ waist, strong hands that dug into his flesh and scratched at his skin. He gasped, he writhed and moaned and pulled the owner of the strong hands on top of himself. They fell onto a bed that seemed to float. It shimmered and spun them around. It pitched and yawed and shuddered in the ethereal light that was flooding in through the window to warm the bodies entwined on the bed.

Legolas whimpered as a soft mouth claimed his lips. His eyes opened, only to be confronted by a blue that mirrored his. And then he was pushed down, dominated by the rough graze of stubble and the insistent press of a hard cock against his. He was naked in seconds, his clothes torn from his body by greedy hands and sharp teeth. But his ravenous lover took care with him even through his passionate haze.

A large hand wrapped around his trembling cock. It stroked over him tenderly, gracefully, and then twisted sinfully to make his mouth drop open and pant for more. And his lover gave him more. Legolas was surrounded by silky blonde hair; it engulfed him and shielded them from the world. All he saw when he cracked his eyes open was miles of pale skin, shimmering azure eyes and the gentle expression of love reflected on a beautiful face.

Legolas sighed and melted into the sensation. It felt so unbelievably right to be surrounded in such a way once more. He trailed his hands over a perfect alabaster back and dug his fingernails into the ass that he found as he reached down. He moved the hips that were already twitching against his; he guided the movements of his lover as he rubbed their cocks together. His lover’s lips were against his neck, nibbling and biting down in between decadent sucking and licking. Gods, he could not remember when he last felt so good, when he last felt so free.

And then his lover groaned; he moaned and snapped his hips, he grinded down against Legolas. He gasped, his perfect mouth falling open and a strand of long hair falling over his eyes. Legolas kept one hand on his ass, urging him on, while the other traced over the strong jut of his jaw. He was beautiful, he was radiant… he was…

“ _Ada_ ,” Legolas moaned.

At the utterance of the word his world was immediately shattered, and he was transported to a frigid lake. The bed sheets dissolved into the swirling current of water and the light that had lit the room was throttled as it tried to strain past the rippling surface. It was cold, desolate, lonely, and he was forced under the water by unseen hands. He spluttered and heaved; he inhaled a breath of water and choked as his lungs were set alight.

“Ada!” Legolas called, his words muffled into the water. Bubbles leaked form his mouth, robbing him of air and splitting his head in pain.

And then there was nothingness. Legolas was surrounded by blackness, desolation, and endless chasm of cold. He called for his father over and over again, is words coming out mute.

But he never came back.

**§§§**

Flittering sunlight trailed across a rumpled bed, striking odd shadows across scrunched bedsheets and discarded pillows. It was nearly noon, yet two figures slept alongside one another in the large bed, both as pale as each other and both with flowing hair that reached past their shoulders. One body twitched, dreaming terrible dreams that he could not be liberated from. A light breeze stirred the room. The off-white muslin curtains that draped in front of the windows did nothing to obscure the light, but they fluttered prettily in the warm wind.

The dreaming body stirred, finally free of torturous hallucinations, and was roused by the sounds of clinking glass that could be heard through the house. The body shuffled upwards, blonde hair cascading down hunched shoulders and twitching pectoral muscles. He sighed and placed his palms against his pounding head, steadying himself. His brain was drumming on the inside of his skull and his ears throbbed with a raging ringing that he could not shake. He gulped down a wad of spit to try and lubricate his dry throat before he swivelled to scratch inside his bedside table.

The other body stirred, yet he paid it no attention. He found the pills he was looking for, and he threw them back with a chug of tepid water. He sniffed and rubbed at his nose, his blue eyes bleary and ringed with red and purple. His cheeks were hollowed and his forehead was creased; his youthful good looks not apparent in the first moments of his day. The ravages of time and life had taken their toll, yet there were still glimmers of his beauty on his face. He was older, yet not wiser.

The other body in the bed stretched and curled away from the invading light.

“Legs, go back to sleep.” The voice was high and reedy.

Legolas stretched his stiff neck and gulped down another mouthful of water, not turning at the sound of the voice. He snatched up his phone from where it was charging and glanced to the notifications he had received in the night; Twitter, Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, Twitter… _Gods_. It was endless - photo after scandalous photo of the night before.

“Gimli’s here,” Legolas sniped, still able to hear the now very deliberate clinking of glasses and scraping of plates. Gods, he wished his manager would refrain from destroying his kitchen every time he arrived. Legolas did not take his eyes off of his phone as he spoke.

“So what? Stay in bed.”

Legolas rolled his eyes and grit his teeth. He scrubbed a hand through his dishevelled hair and slipped out of bed. He pulled on a ragged pair of boxers and draped a robe over his shoulders before he made to head out of his bedroom. He slipped his phone into his pocket just as it buzzed with more notifications.

“Come on, Leggy, stay here with me,” the voice said, and Legolas turned. He had always hated that nickname. The naked redhead on his bed pouted her artificially plumped lips and let the edge of the sheet slide down to reveal an artificially enhanced chest. Legolas’ eyes never left hers, his irises faded and grey in the soft light. He took a moment, searching his heart for any sort of twitch that could pass as emotion.

He found none.

“Go back to sleep, Tauriel,” he said, and strode from the room in a flurry of robes and blonde hair.

Tauriel watched him go with steely eyes before she flopped back onto the bed. Her hand immediately scrabbled to the phone that lay charging beside her. She blinked a few times to clear her eyes of sleep before the screen lit up her face.

Legolas swept through his ostentatious house with a blank expression. He was not fully functional in the mornings without his usual pick-me-up, and the pills were taking longer and longer to kick in.

“Ah! You’re awake!” Gimli sprung down from the table in the centre of the kitchen, his scruffy red beard twitching as he spoke. He had a half-eaten muffin in one hand and crumbs clinging to the wiry hairs of his moustache.

Legolas swept past him, going directly to the fridge to extract a carton of orange juice.

“I was woken up by the noise you were making,” Legolas eyed the two glasses and the plate that sat in front of his manager, “But then you knew that.”

Gimli grumbled something incomprehensible and pulled himself back up onto his chair. Legolas stroked a piece of hair from his face and poured himself a quarter of a glass of juice. He turned back to the fridge, extracted a bottle of last night’s champagne, and topped up the glass until it was full. Gimli watched his client, one bushy eyebrow slightly raised, but said nothing. He knew better than that.

“What do you want?” Legolas snapped, taking a huge glug of mimosa and swiping the bottle of champagne to take with him as he moved out of the kitchen. Gimli had to jog to keep up with Legolas as he walked through the house, eventually settling himself on the patio with his mimosa and the rest of the champagne. Gimli did not take a seat. He walked around, eyeing the carnage of the night before and tugging nervously on his tie.

The pool was wrecked. The water was still and off-colour; green around the edges and luminous to the centre. There were bits of paraphernalia floating around; a pair of women’s underwear, two bras, and a great deal of tiny cocktail umbrellas. Gimli grimaced when the sight of a used condom floated by. There were smashed bottles strewn across the paving stones, green and brown shards sticking up everywhere, and there was a man’s shirt clinging to the branches of the bushes that bordered the barbeque area.

Gimli’s nose twitched slightly and he turned to Legolas.

“This film, the one in Paris-”

“I have already told Saruman that I will not do it. I don’t want to be in goddamn France for a month.”

Gimli sighed and clasped his hands around the back of one of the chairs next to Legolas.

“Legolas-”

“You’re my _manager_ , Gimli, not my bloody agent. You’re supposed to organise my parties, make my hair appointments and fetch me my coffee.” Legolas snapped, his knuckles turning white around the mimosa in his hand.

Gimli took a deep breath, “If you back out of this film, I won’t have a client to manage!”

Legolas flicked his hair out of his eyes as he rolled them.

“I’m serious. You’ve already signed the contract; the studio will sue you if you don’t honour it.”

Legolas drained his drink in one go.

“So what?”

Gimli bristled, and the ginger hair on his chin twitched violently.

“You’re broke, Legolas! You’re mortgaged up to your eyeballs on this place, you keep throwing these-” Gimli flailed at the remains of the night before, “-extravagant parties. You haven’t appeared in anything worthy of mentioning for three years, and each time I have to drag you to rehab somebody ends up suing you!” Gimli huffed, his arms crossed across his expensive suit and a wild look in his eyes.

Legolas stared back, his eyes cloudy and defiant, before he grappled for the bottle of champagne and took a healthy chug. Gimli scoffed and held out his hands in front of him, trying to calm himself as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He gathered himself after a few moments and let his hands flop down at his sides. He lowered his voice and his eyes tried to convey the seriousness of the situation.

“If you don’t do this film, Legolas, you will be destitute. You will have to declare bankruptcy, and you will lose this house. Do you understand?”

Legolas merely shrugged and gazed out across his wrecked pool and back yard. “I have friends, I can stay with them.”

Gimli laughed. He cackled at the mention of Legolas’ friends. “You don’t have friends, you have leeches. They hang around because they know they will get a few controversial pictures with you and make the tabloids. Nobody likes a homeless addict showing up on their doorstep. Don’t fool yourself, Legolas. You either do this movie or you will be on the streets.”

Legolas clenched his jaw, but said nothing. Gimli readied himself for the barrage of abuse, but it never came. It seemed that he had performed a miracle; he had gotten through to the troubled actor. He knew that it was a brief reprieve, though, for what he would say next would surely cause Legolas to fly into a rage.

“They are having a read through next week, with a new screenwriter and director.”

Legolas barely paid attention to what Gimli was saying. He stared blankly into space, lost in his thoughts. What did he care if they had changed the script and the director? He did not even remember what the film was about, let alone details such as who was directing. He would show up, to prevent being sued, but he did not have to cooperate. He would cause his usual chaos and they would be forced to let him go. He would sidestep the lawsuit and have a nice pay out.

“Legolas? Are you listening to me? They’re going in a different direction with the entire film.” Gimli waved a hand in front of Legolas’ blank stare. He blinked and snapped his head up, sneering at his manager as he took another glug of champagne. He drained the bottle.

“What do I care?” He snapped, pushing up onto unsteady feet. He brushed past Gimli, not caring that he knocked him as he walked; the pills mixed with the booze were beginning to affect him. He was intent on heading back to bed, but did not make a move towards his own bedroom. He wanted peace, he wanted solitude – one of the many guest bedrooms would do. He extracted his phone from his pocket to check on his notifications once more. He was addicted to more than just alcohol and pills.

“It’s your father.”

Legolas stopped when he heard Gimli’s voice. The words that spilled from his mouth sent a cold chill right through to Legolas’ bones. His head began to pound; his temples began throbbing immediately. His mouth went dry, his eyes widened, and his heart shuddered in his chest.

Suddenly, he felt too much.

Legolas was immediately transported back in time, five years into the past, and he experienced the excruciating pain of it all once more. His cold heart gave a little gasp, a mewling sensation of feeling, as though he was once again the Legolas of old, before he quashed it and snapped his head around to glare at Gimli.

“What?” Legolas’ eyes were black. Gimli braced himself for one of his client’s rages. He had become renowned for them. Though they got him a conspicuous amount of press and fame, they had crippled his previously promising acting career. No one was jumping to offer Legolas Greenleaf any work whatsoever. He had been a gracious, talented young actor at one time, but now he was nothing but a raging storm that Gimli tried his best to quell.

“He’s rewritten the script, and they’re letting him direct. The studio has him under contract and they assigned him to the film.” Gimli explained as calmly as he could. The words hung in the air, doing absolutely nothing to calm the violent maelstrom that Gimli could see in Legolas’ eyes.

Legolas did not say anything. He clutched his phone, his knuckles turning white, and he glared, but he said nothing,

“You have to do it, Legolas, no matter what has happened between you two in the past. You have to do it.” Gimli was pushing his luck with the unpredictable star, but there was no other option available to him.

Legolas seemed to be processing the news for a few moments, before he said, “Leave.” His voice was low and it trembled violently.

Foolishly, Gimli took a step forwards, “Legolas-”

Gimli did not expect a large iPhone to be hurled at him, and he stumbled in shock as it shattered against the wall behind him. Thank gods Legolas was too affected by alcohol to have any sort of aim.

“Leave me!” Legolas screeched, “And get me a new goddamned phone!”

Gimli did not make the mistake of trying to talk to Legolas again. He bolted past him, heading straight for the front door, and did not look up as Tauriel came strutting in to the room, her brow furrowed.

“What the hell is going on?” She asked, eyeing the mess of iPhone that lay on the floor. Legolas gulped in air as though he was drowning. He clutched at his throat and spun, blazing past Tauriel.

“Legs-” Tauriel started, but he was gone in an instant. She sighed and raised an over-plucked eyebrow at him, before she rolled her eyes and ambled in to the kitchen, her eyes firmly glued down at the phone in her hand.

Legolas ran as though he was being chased, eventually finding himself locked in his bathroom. He gasped and clutched at his stomach, feeling the sudden urge to throw up. He fought it down with huge breaths and sheer willpower, and began to rifle through the many cupboards and drawers. He needed to find something – _anything_ – to dull his pain, to make him forget.

During his last stint in rehab, Gimli had raided his house of all the pills he had stashed, and Legolas cursed him. He could feel the pain and the desolation creep down his throat and constrict his heart, and he needed to be free of it. It was as though he was dreaming once again, and he could not escape the cold and the agony.

Eventually, he found a few mild sleeping pills and decided that they were better than nothing. He dry swallowed as many as there were and slid down the chilly marble tiles that lined his lavish bathroom. He buried his hands in his hair as he waited for the pills to take effect. He tugged on his braids and scratched at his scalp and tried to breath normally. His blue eyes pricked with the first hint of tears, and he screwed his eyelids shut to prevent it.

He had cried too many tears over what had happened already, but they seemed to come no matter how much he tried to stop them. Old memories came back to him; flashes of furry ears and dirty paws, glimpses of red aprons and gentle smiles. His dream came flooding back to him; the kisses, the caresses, the firm press of his father’s body against his and the look of absolute devotion in those pale blue eyes…

Legolas muffled a cry of anguish by biting the flesh of his palm. His teeth dug in deep, drawing the first hints of blood, and Legolas became even more distraught at the taste of tangy iron on his tongue. He sat there, rocking back and forth against the austere walls of his bathroom, until the pills pulled him under the surface of consciousness, where his mind would no doubt think up even more horrific tortures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thank you very much for reading! It is much appreciated! <3**
> 
> All the art for this fan fiction is provided by [plotbunniesincolour](http://plotbunniesincolour.tumblr.com/). Check out the [commissions section](http://plotbunniesincolour.tumblr.com/commissioninfo) if you would like any digital art for your blog/fan fiction/website.
> 
> **Have a lovely day! <3**


	2. Where is My Mind?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Way out in the water  
> See it swimming  
> Where is my mind?
> 
> Way out in the water  
> See it swimming  
> Where is my mind?  
> Where is my mind?  
> Where is my mind?
> 
> With your feet the air  
> And your head on the ground  
> Try this trick  
> Spin it
> 
> \- [Where is My Mind?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K8-uhmgGBF0) (Yoav feat. Emily Browning, Sucker Punch Soundtrack)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Here is the next chapter! Thank you so much for all the lovely support on the first chapter! Know that it is very much appreciated, and it makes me so happy to interact with you on what you would like to see going forwards!
> 
> I highly suggest that you listen to [Where is My Mind?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K8-uhmgGBF0) by Yoav feat. Emily Browning, Sucker Punch Soundtrack, while reading this chapter. I used it for inspiration! <3
> 
> I hope you enjoy this x

 

_Five Years Ago_

There was a sharp tapping on Legolas’ door before the sun was fully up; before even the first tendrils of warmth had spread over the frosty ground. He moaned and swirled in his bed, reaching out to wrap his arms around a warm body. He found none and he groaned, remembering that he was away from his lover. He was two weeks into filming and in a foreign city, thousands of miles away from Thranduil. It hurt every time he remembered that they were parted by such distance.

“Legolas!” It was Elrond, and Legolas pulled a pillow over his head to try and block out his incessant knocking.

“Legolas! Let me in! Quickly!”

Legolas let out a muffled moan into the pillow. While he had been glad that a familiar face was on set with him, he now resented the screenwriter’s proclivity for punctuality.

“It’s not time for me to get up yet!” He called roughly, looking through bleary eyes to the clock that sat next to his hotel bed. “Come back in an hour!”

Elrond smacked his hand against the door, now sounding quite hysterical. “Legolas! Open the damned door!”

There was silence as Elrond waited. He threw worried glances down the corridor, expecting at any moment to be accosted by hordes of photographers and journalists. When Legolas did not open the door, he resumed his banging. _Bloody actors and their bloody sleep cycles._

“Legolas! Everyone knows! Open the godforsaken door!” Elrond hissed.

Legolas’ eyes flew open and he pulled the pillow from his face. He gulped, fear lancing straight through his heart. He stared blankly at the ceiling above him, his thoughts blazing through his mind.

“ _Legolas!_ ”

Legolas scrabbled from the bed, clad only in long pyjama pants, and wrenched the door to his hotel room open. Wild eyes met Elrond, and he slipped in without any more fuss.

“What do you mean everyone knows?” Legolas stuttered, his face having drained of its colour.

Elrond said nothing and shoved a crumpled magazine into Legolas’ hands. He spun, strode over to the bar, and poured two large glasses of whiskey.

Legolas gaped at the headline that was splashed across the front pages in a garish red script; _‘Incest Scandal – Oropherion and Greenleaf father and son!’_. The words blared out at him, yet they looked odd. They swirled and he battled to read them.

Legolas stared, unblinkingly, at the page for a full ten seconds. He did not register it at first. His mind would not let him process what he was seeing. No. _No_ … they had been so careful. They had always been so very _careful_.

Elrond approached him, a glass of alcohol in each hand, and looked down sadly rather than meet Legolas’ eyes.

“Wh-What… what does it say?” Legolas managed, too terrified to open the magazine. Elrond pressed a glass into his hand and took a sip of his own whiskey.

“It exposes the fact that you are father and son, supposedly from an ‘anonymous’ source close to you. It brings up all those old sex scenes you did in Tale as Old as Time…”

Legolas blinked up at the screenwriter, the magazine hanging slack in his hand.

“And?” Legolas asked, desperation trickling through his voice.

“… and it speculates that you two are a couple, that you’re seeing one another secretly.”

Legolas couldn’t swallow. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t blink, he couldn’t breathe…

“They don’t have any proof of that Legolas. It’s just gossip that they’re propagating at the moment, but they do have your birth certificate; they have the evidence that Thranduil is your father,” Elrond said, his voice soft, “It’s going to blow up today.”

Legolas’ stomach went into a sickly spasm and he doubled over, dry heaving out a strangled noise. Thank the gods his stomach was empty, or Elrond would have gotten vomit over his suede shoes.

“Who?” Legolas gasped, flinging the magazine down and placing a trembling hand over his mouth. Elrond shrugged and shook his head. As far as he knew, it was only Thranduil, Legolas and himself that knew of their relationship.

“Drink,” Elrond said, and Legolas lifted the whiskey to his lips. It burned, and he grimaced, but he took another gulp immediately. Legolas’ eyes seemed to clear then, and he seemed to shake the mist of shock that had descended over him.

“Ada…” Legolas said, spinning and making to grab his phone. But Elrond stopped him. He placed a hand around Legolas’ wrist and prevented him from reaching it.

“No! I’ve talked to him this morning. He knows… He thinks you two shouldn’t have any contact for a while.”

Fear constricted Legolas’ heart, and he felt so very alone. “What? Why? But…”

“Just leave this to me, Legolas. You can’t talk to him or see him until we get this under control. We can’t throw any more fuel on this fire.” Elrond guided Legolas to sit down on the bed.

“But-”

“I’ve got you out of filming for the rest of the week; we need to move you to a place where the paparazzi can’t find you until Monday. We need to do damage control… we need to limit the impact… we need to issue a statement… deny the speculation… nip it in the bud… your career… your father… scandal…”

Elrond’s voice faded to a dull roar, and Legolas steadily slipped into a state of numb disconnectedness. He gazed straight ahead, his brain shorting out. All he wanted was to hear Thranduil’s voice. He wanted his arms, he wanted his smell and his warmth… he needed to be held by his father. He needed to be held by his lover and told that everything would be alright.

“… Legolas? Are you listening to me? I need to pack your things… Legolas...” Elrond was waving a hand in front of his blank eyes.

But Legolas could only sit and tremble; his eyes far away and his mind lost in a swirling mass of fear.

**§§§**

Legolas lowered his phone gradually, his arm sagging downwards and unfurling against his thigh.

Elrond had expressly told him not to call… but he had to - he had to hear his father’s voice just once. He had waited for Elrond to leave, no doubt to procure them some more food, before he had called. He had hurriedly switched his phone on, he had trembled as he pressed the buttons, and he had shivered as he waited.

His world had stopped when he had heard a distorted voice on the other end of the line say, “The number you have dialled does not exist.”

His mouth dropped open and a sob flew from it. He took a deep breath. He tried to steady himself. He tried to steady the pounding of his heart.

And then his phone had rung, sharp and jarring through the still air, and Legolas’ breast had filled with hope.

‘ _Private Number_ ’ it read. Perhaps it was his father? Perhaps it was his Ada calling to make sure he was alright.

“Hello?” he had said, breathy and rushed into the receiver.

“Legolas! Care to comment on the recent revelations that you’re doing the dirty with your own father?” The voice was full of barely restrained disgust and uninhibited jeering.

Bile filled Legolas’ throat and he wrenched the phone from the side of his face. He hit the button at the top forcefully, his finger turning white, until the screen blacked out. His hands were trembling violently as he hurried to extract the SIM card.

When his phone lay in pieces around him, he let out another sob and clenched his hands into his hair. He took huge breaths through his nose, his nostrils flaring as he did. And then he stopped, and vomit filled his mouth. He panicked and flew to his feet, just making it to the toilet bowl in time.

**§§§**

“Legolas!”

“Legolas! Do you have anything to say?”

“Where’s your father? Legolas?”

“Legolas!!”

“Just keep your head down,” Elrond whispered, pushing a cap onto Legolas’ head and pulling his hoodie up over it. He slipped a pair of dark sunglasses onto Legolas’ scared face and threw a hand around his trembling shoulders. “Follow me, and don’t say anything.”

Legolas nodded, his lips set in a straight line.

Elrond opened the door to a blinding flash of white light. Legolas blanched and stuttered backwards at the calls of the paparazzi that had surrounded their crummy motel room. But Elrond urged him forwards, his arm securely around his shoulders as he pulled him along.

“Legolas!”

“Look here Legolas!”

“Not with daddy today?”

“Aw? No daddy!”

There was snorting and jeering, and Legolas was blinded by flashes.

“Get out of the damned way!” Elrond snapped.

Their laughter rang through Legolas’ mind, and he wanted to throw up once more. But he kept his head down, as Elrond had said, and he was eventually pulled through the throngs of people to the waiting car.

**§§§**

“Ada?” Legolas had been trying to get hold of his father for a week.

“Legolas, how did you get this number?”

“Elro-”

“Don’t call again, don’t call this number again.”

“Ada-”

“We should not be speaking, I asked Elrond to explain this to you.”

“He did, Ada, but I-”

“I’m going to hang up now.”

“Ada! Please… no! Please, I just want to hear your voice.”

Silence.

“Ada?”

More silence.

“Please, Ada. I miss you… I miss you so much.”

“Legolas, we need to be apart for a while.”

“I understand Ada, but for how long? And why won’t you talk to me? They can’t hear us.”

“It’s best for everyone if we have no contact, at least until this has died down.”

“Where are you?”

“I can’t tell you that, ‘Las.”

“Please, I just want to know you’re safe.”

“I’m… out of the country.”

“Ada-”

“I have to go. Don’t call again.”

“Ada! Gods… Please, it’s too much. I can’t handle this by myself. Tell me where you are? I’ll come and be with you, out of sight, please… I need you to get through this.”

“You’ll have to do without me this time, Legolas. I can disappear, you can’t. They’ll always find you, and if we are seen together it will be the end for both of us.”

“But-”

“I’m going to change my number, don’t call again.”

“Ada!”

There was only silence at the end of the line, and then a click and a flat tone. Legolas lowered the phone from his face, his hand snaking around to clutch at his stomach. It twisted, and a lancing pain blazed through his abdomen. He wanted to cry; he wanted to bury his face in a pillow and sob. He held his tears back as two make-up artists approached him.

They began to brush at his face, touching up his make-up for the day of filming. He was standing on a bustling film set, dressed in a ridiculous costume, and with his hair pulled back into braids. He wanted to be alone; he wanted to be away from the eyes that looked sideways at him and the raised eyebrows. Even the make-up artists who worked on his face looked at him shiftily, their eyes catching his every so often. Even though it had been more than a week since the scandal about himself and his father had broken, they still stared. Gods, he just wanted to be swallowed up by the earth.

Legolas’ eyes stared straight forwards as his face was made perfect for camera. He couldn’t keep his lines in his head, he couldn’t stop his eye from twitching, and he had a horrific pain in his stomach – but at least he would look pretty. He could feel the director becoming frustrated with his lacklustre performance and the distracted look on his face in take after take, but he couldn’t help it. He was going through hell, and he wasn’t a good enough actor to conceal it. His whole world was shattering before his eyes, how could he be expected to think clearly?

“Legolas? Are you ready for this scene?” Elrond appeared at his side and eased the phone from his hand. He let it go and focused on keeping his tears in check.

“Legolas?”

Legolas gulped and turned to the screenwriter, trying to summon the strength that was rapidly leeching from his soul.

“I don’t think I can do this,” he said softly, and the make-up artists threw each other knowing glances across him. Elrond gave them a polite smile and asked for a few moments of privacy, which they grudgingly gave them. Elrond put a hand on Legolas’ trembling shoulder and squeezed.

“It’s only seven more days of filming, and then you can disappear,” Elrond whispered.

Legolas looked up at his friend with blue eyes swimming in unshed tears. “He doesn’t want to see me, Elrond; he won’t even talk to me.”

“It’s only for now, Legolas; until everything has calmed down and the press are no longer interested. Some reality TV star will do or say something stupid soon, and then they’ll forget about you.”

Legolas nodded slowly, his heart cracking at the edges and the fractures moving inwards. He hoped to the gods that Elrond was right.

**§§§**

Legolas had not moved in three weeks. Filming had ended three weeks ago, and he had spent every day staring at his phone, waiting for it to ring. He had tried to go home, he had shown up at his and his father’s house on the outskirts of Vancouver, only to be told that the house had been put up for sale. Elrond had offered his guest suite, and Legolas had curled up in bed and had not moved. He barely ate and Elrond had to force him to shower at least once a day. He was a mess; a shivering, nervous wreck. He would sob, and then sleep, and then wake up sobbing.

But mostly he just stared, his eyes blank and soulless, at his phone.

“Legolas,” Elrond’s voice floated over. He was standing in the bedroom doorway, one hand on his hip and the other tapping on the frame.

Legolas didn’t answer. He didn’t know if he knew how to form words anymore.

“Legolas, Saruman’s here,” Elrond said, his eyes trained on the wrinkled lump that passed as Legolas. He was huddled under the duvet, his blonde hair limp and spread across a pillow.

Elrond took a seat next to where he assumed Legolas’ hip was, and he sighed. Legolas scuffled away under the sheets, curling into a tighter ball.

“He’s brought you a manager; someone to help you find a place to live and to get you back on your feet.” Thranduil had always taken care of him; he’d never needed a manager before. His father knew the ins and outs of the business better than anyone, and he always wanted the best for his son; it had been natural. But now… now Legolas was alone.

“Legolas, come on. Come through and meet him.”

Legolas curled up tighter, tears pricking his eyes. He shuffled closer to his phone and buried his head in a pillow. He knew that he was being childish, but he couldn’t help himself. He was broken. He had not gone as long as he had without speaking to his father in five years, and it was slowly destroying him. Thranduil was his father, his lover and his best friend; he was his whole world. And now he was gone.

“Legolas…”

“Please, just let me be alone,” Legolas rasped, his voice rough from disuse.

Elrond sighed heavily. Dealing with a broken hearted movie star in his house for three straight weeks was beginning to take its toll.

“You have to get up some time,” Elrond tried, trying to see where Legolas’ head was.

“I’m waiting for him to call.” Legolas’ voice was trembling and Elrond could hear the tears that he was fighting.

“He’s not going to call, Legolas, you know that. We’ve talked about this.” The media storm that had been caused due to the scandal had not died down. If anything, Legolas had been hounded even more. Elrond had had to employ extra security so as to keep the photographers out of his yard. Legolas could not leave the house, even if he had wanted to. There was a gaggle of paparazzi camped out outside Elrond’s front gate; waiting. They were just waiting for the first sighting of Legolas since he had returned to Los Angeles. They were waiting to descend upon the poor, broken actor.

Thranduil had called, but only once, and only to speak to Elrond. He had made it clear that he would not be returning any time soon. He had made it clear that they were to have no more contact until the furore had calmed. When that would be, none of them could say.

“He’ll call,” Legolas sniffed, and Elrond sighed.

“You need to pick yourself up from this, Legolas. You need to get through it and carry on. It’ll come right, you’ll see, but you can’t spend the rest of your life huddled in my guest bedroom. The silence and your absence are only making them more ravenous for any dirt they can find.” Elrond petted the place where he assumed Legolas’ shoulder was. He tugged on the duvet a little, exposing the reddened and tear-streaked face of the beautiful blonde actor. Though he was an absolute mess, his eyes still twinkled up at Elrond, tinged with hope.

“It doesn’t make sense, Elrond. One day we’re talking about a holiday in France and getting a new puppy, the next… nothing. _Nothing_.”

Elrond sighed, his face crumpling. His heart ached for Legolas, for all the pain he was being put through, but he knew that the only thing he could do for him was to quell the media tornado that had been created. “Gimli has prepared a statement for you to read; he thinks it’ll calm the storm if you deny the claims in public. It’ll stop the speculating and the gossip.”

Legolas blinked up at Elrond and he swallowed a thick wad of emotion, crushing his heartbreak down into his chest as he asked, “Gimli?”

“The manager Saruman has brought with him. He’d good, Legolas. He’ll help much more than I can; he’s experienced in scandal mitigation.”

Legolas sniffed. His eyes trailed down to his phone, lying silent and still on the bed next to him.

“He won’t call until everything has died down; he’s trying to protect you. Gimli is our best shot at fixing this,” Elrond said softly, his eyes gentle and filled with sorrow for Legolas. “Come on.” He held his hand out, and Legolas stared at it for a long few moments before taking it.

**§§§**

“Legolas?” Gimli strode through Legolas’ recently renovated house, his tablet in one hand and a stack of scripts clenched in the other. “Legolas, what about the one that shoots in a month’s time? The Marvel one - the one with the stupid name? That’d be fun.”

Legolas did not look up from the television he was watching. He was curled up on a huge couch, his legs tucked under his body and his head resting back against the plush leather. His eyes stared blankly at the moving pictures on the screen, yet he did not register the information.

“Saruman sent these over,” Gimli said, placing the scripts on the table in front of Legolas. “And he wants you at a meeting at his offices tomorrow. Something about the rights to your life story… he says… Legolas? Legolas!”

Legolas clenched his jaw and pushed himself up off of the couch at the mention of his ‘life story’. Saruman had been pushing it for months - a book, a movie, a tell-all interview… Gods, he just wanted to be left alone. All he wanted was solitude and oblivion, yet he was burdened by a pushy agent and an over-zealous manager.

“Legolas,” Gimli’s voice trilled, following him through the house and to his large, ostentatious patio, “You haven’t done a film in months! You need to get back out there! Everyone is clamouring for you since your father made that statement. It’s been months!”

Legolas closed his eyes and tilted his head back, trying to still his whirring mind with the warmth of the sun upon his face and the cool sea breeze wafting through his hair. He had read the statement his father had released all those months ago with a numb detachment that had not yet dissipated. The words ‘estranged’, ‘ridiculous’ and ‘completely untrue’ were seared into his heart, along with ‘unfounded’, ‘malicious’, ‘conspiracy’ and ‘disgusting’.

Disgusting. _Disgusting_. _Disgusting_ …

The words burned Legolas right to his core, scarring and mangling his insides. The statement had stopped all of the rumours swirling about their relationship in their tracks, but it had destroyed what little was left of Legolas’ heart. And then there had been that picture – splashed all over the front pages of tabloid magazines, emblazoned on every gossip website, seared into the back of Legolas’ eyelids. That picture of his father and… Legolas fought down the surge of bile that bubbled up his throat as he thought of his father in another’s embrace.

It had been nearly a year since his life had imploded and exploded all at once. While he had shaken the tears and the trembling, the longing and the hurt had not left him. There were no longer paparazzi at his door, yet he still felt as though his life was being invaded; he was consumed by crushing loneliness and the stinging aftereffects of complete betrayal.

“I don’t care,” Legolas whispered, “I don’t care what I do; just sign me on for whatever pays more.”

Gimli raised his ginger eyebrows and made a note on his tablet, “Marvel cameo it is then.”

Legolas shrugged, uninterested in what film he next appeared in. He didn’t know how he would act. He couldn’t feel his own emotions, let alone another’s, but he wanted Gimli off of his back.

“Okay, and you’ll meet with Saruman tomorrow? Nine o’clock?” Gimli was tapping away furiously, trying to get as much done as possible now that Legolas was playing ball.

“Not before one,” Legolas said offhandedly, his eyes roving over the pool and the massive entertainment area.

Gimli looked up for a moment, and then tapped in a time, mumbling; “One it is.” He made to leave, but Legolas’ words interrupted him.

“Pick up some booze; some wine and some spirits and mixers. I want to have people over tonight.”

Gimli glanced to the pool, then to Legolas, then to the brand new barbeque; “And some food?”

Legolas turned, his eyes grey and lifeless, and growled; “I don’t care; just get as much alcohol as you can carry.”

Gimli hovered; swaying on his patent leather shoes while debating whether he should broach a rather sensitive subject with Legolas. He threw caution to the wind and resolved to be as subtle as possible.

“This party? Will there be… _certain people_ … here?” Gimli plucked at the edge of one of the patio chairs. Legolas glared at him, his brow set in a line and his mouth taut at the edges.

Gimli heaved a sigh, “Women. Will there be women here?” No so subtle, in the end.

Legolas’ eyes burned into Gimli, and he glimpsed a moment of utter rage – he caught of a glimpse of the future – before it faded into the nothingness that was typical of Legolas’ gaze.

“Yes, there will be _women_.”

Gimli gave a tentative nod and said cheerily; “Good, good. Only women for now, Legolas. We want to restore your image, not give the press fresh fodder for speculation.”

Legolas turned, his grey eyes ghosting over the pool, the yard and the lapping of the sea he could see just beyond the wall that lined his property.

Gimli blinked once at his client, “And Legolas?”

“Hmm.”

“Take pictures, will you?”

Legolas turned his head, but only slightly. He couldn’t see Gimli, but could feel him shuffling about.

“People Magazine are offering a tidy profit for pictures of you in compromising situations. Just make sure they’re with women. Yes? You need to be seen with women.”

Legolas did not bother to answer. He looked out, his blonde hair stirring in the breeze; out over the sea and the endless blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thank you very much for reading! It is much appreciated! <3**
> 
> All the art for this fan fiction is provided by [plotbunniesincolour](http://plotbunniesincolour.tumblr.com/). Check out the [commissions section](http://plotbunniesincolour.tumblr.com/commissioninfo) if you would like any digital art for your blog/fan fiction/website.
> 
> **Have a lovely day! <3**


	3. World Spins Madly On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Woke up and wished that I was dead  
> With an aching in my head  
> I lay motionless in bed  
> I thought of you and where you'd gone  
> and let the world spin madly on  
> 
> 
> \- [World Spins Madly On](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L4sa2HoXpsE) (The Weepies)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the next chapter! thank you all for the lovely feedback on the previous chapter! It really means so much! Ofplanet_earth asked for Thranduil and sweet memories, and tada! It appears <3
> 
> Today is a rather special day for me as it is my last day of work. I am so excited to finally be getting to get my life on the track that it should always have been on, so I'm kinda shaking while writing this :)  
> I highly suggest that you listen to [World Spins Madly On](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L4sa2HoXpsE) by The Weepies while reading this chapter. I used it for inspiration! <3
> 
> I hope you enjoy x

 

[ ](http://s284.photobucket.com/user/loveactuallyfan91/media/SAOAR%20Chapter%203%20watermark_zpsbho4w0kg.jpg.html)

Legolas flinched as his hair was pulled back and yanked against his head to be put into a braid. His eyes watered at the creases but he remained emotionless, staring straight ahead as his scalp was tugged by strong fingers that showed no mercy. If he was honest, he enjoyed the pain. At least he could feel it; at least he could feel something other than the clawing emptiness that was usually settled over his chest.

“Legolas? Are you listening to me? Please tell me you’ve read the script?” Gimli was pacing in front of him, his fingers worrying the edges of the thick script he was paging through. Legolas was sitting on a stool in his lounge, a hairdresser pulling at his hair and a make-up artist fussing over his face.

“I skimmed through it,” Legolas mumbled. He had read the title page and found that he did not have the courage to read any further. He had read the title page a second time, had flung the script across his bedroom, and downed nearly an entire bottle of whiskey. He could not bring himself to read words that his father had written, no matter their importance. He would be going into the read-through blind, but he couldn’t find it within himself to care. He intended to get himself fired as quickly as possible and not having read through the script would go a long way towards reaching his goal.

“Good, good…” Gimli’s bushy beard twitched. “I expect some paparazzi will be waiting for you at the entrance, with it being the first time you have worked with your father since…” Gimli made an abstract motion with his hand in the air.

Legolas rolled his eyes and the make-up artist tutted at the disturbance. “For gods’ sake! Can’t I use another door? How did they find out about this?”

Gimli shrugged, “They have their ways, but in this case, I told them.”

Legolas blinked at his manager and his cheeks blushed a tinge of red as he became angry. The make-up artist sighed and brushed some more foundation onto Legolas’ skin.

“You what?”

“It’s big news, Legolas, you working with your father after all these years.”

“For gods’ sake, I’m trying to avoid cameras!”

Gimli raised an eyebrow and tossed the script down onto a nearby couch. “You need some press coverage about working again, Legolas. You’ve been taking a beating with critics lately and being seen at a read-through for a respectable film will do wonders for your image. The fact that your father is directing hints at a scandal enough to make the paparazzi all the more interested. You know how it goes.”

Legolas glared at his manager, his eyes filling with a characteristic rage. He was more adept at controlling himself when he did not have booze and pills in his system. Gimli had insisted he be somewhat sober for the read-through.

“Okay, we’re done.” The voice of the hairdresser floated past Legolas, and he barely heard her words. Gimli threw him an exasperated look and shuffled off, his head buried in his tablet while he tried to avoid the searing glare of Legolas’ stare.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, Legolas,” the make-up artist said, but Legolas did not hear her. He had stood from the stool and wandered over to a mirror to appraise his hair and face. He gulped; his throat bobbing as he took in the braids that had been pulled into the sides of his hair. He hadn’t worn his hair in side braids for years. As he gazed into his own eyes, grey and pale in the dawn light, he was reminded of another morning six years ago-

_Thranduil woke early and made them both breakfast, as he usually did on a Saturday. Legolas remained in bed, his body weary from the night’s activities and his father’s ravenous appetite. Thranduil had been happy to show his son just how much he had missed him while he had been away shooting._

_Legolas soaked in the soft light and the smell of his father clinging to the sheets that he surrounded himself with. He stretched and sighed happily, his eyes blue and sparkling when his father padded into their room with a breakfast tray balancing on his arm and two mugs of coffee clasped in his hand. Legolas grinned and sat up as the tray was laid over his knees. Smaug, who was lying on his back at the foot of the bed, legs akimbo and his pink tongue lolling out of his mouth, twitched as the smell of pancakes reached his sensitive nose. He did not wake, but whimpered and flicked his feet as though he were chasing imaginary pancakes through his dreams._

_Legolas’ hair was a complete mess. Thranduil had taken great delight in thoroughly ruffling him the night before, digging his hands into his silky blonde hair and tugging until moan after moan was drawn from Legolas’ mouth. Thranduil snorted in laughter as Legolas sat up, his hair sticking up everywhere, and he crinkled his nose and tried to flatten the fly-aways and the knots._

_Thranduil shook his head at Legolas’ fruitless attempts to tame his hair, before he slid behind his son, letting Legolas sit between his legs. He said nothing; he merely shifted up so that his legs surrounded Legolas and began to undo the tousled braids that were still clinging into his hair. Legolas had an irrepressible grin stretched across his lips as he picked up a freshly made pancake and sprinkled it with sugar, cinnamon and a squeeze of lemon juice. He hummed in happiness as his father’s fingers slid across his scalp, massaging him and working the tension that had gathered in his body. He closed his eyes as he bit into the pancake and felt the first pull of braids being plaited into his hair. Thranduil only wore pyjama pants and Legolas could feel every generous inch of him pressed against his lower back._

_“Are they good?” Thranduil purred, his lips tickling the shell of Legolas’ ear._

_Legolas’ stomach dropped and his cock jumped in approval._

_“You always make the best pancakes, Ada,” Legolas sighed, rolling another pancake. He took a sip of his morning coffee and smiled; coffee, pancakes, and Thranduil playing with his hair was the closest to heaven he would ever come, he was sure of it._

_“You also make the very best coffee,” Legolas bit his lip, turning his head a little. Thranduil kept the strands of his son’s hair taut as he leaned forwards and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. Their lips drew apart languidly as they both lingered, and Thranduil licked Legolas’ bottom lip as he pulled back. He tasted the coffee with a thoughtful expression._

_“You do taste rather wonderful.” Thranduil smirked and Legolas blushed and rolled another pancake; this one for his father. Thranduil was just putting the finishing touches to Legolas’ now pristine hair when his son handed him a pancake. Legolas sucked on a sugar-covered finger as he turned and watched his father take his first bite. Thranduil’s lips twitched up at the corners as he tasted the sweetness on his tongue and the spicy perfection of cinnamon clinging to the top of his palate._

_A few stray crystals of sugar adhered to Thranduil’s plump top lip and Legolas watched as he took a sip of his coffee and emerged with the sugar still there. Legolas grinned and pounced forwards, pressing their lips together and licking out to dissolve the sugar with his tongue; he always took an opportunity to kiss his lover. Thranduil laughed and kissed him back, twisting his hands in Legolas’ hair to displace it once more. It was a perfect moment, swathed in pale morning light and bathed in the soft glow of love that radiated from both beautiful blondes._

“Legolas? Hello, Legolas?”

Legolas snapped his head around, his vision of Thranduil and their bedroom dissolving before his eyes. Gimli was staring at him, his hands on his hips and a quizzical tilt to his eyebrows.

“You looked far away, are you alright?”

Legolas blinked through the haze and swallowed a lump of heartache that had clawed up his throat. He had tried to suppress his memories of his father since they had parted ways, and had completely forgotten about their perfect Saturday mornings spent cuddling and eating pancakes. He had forgotten how tender his father used to be when braiding his hair; he had forgotten the love and the belonging that he had felt. He wanted to forget it.

“I need a drink,” Legolas mumbled, already heading towards the kitchen. Gimli followed, his hands clasped together.

“The car’s already here, if you don’t head out now you’ll be late,” Gimli insisted, trying to herd Legolas away from the bottles of alcohol he hoarded in his kitchen.

“Gimli…” Legolas began, his voice dropping an octave and coming out as a growl. Gimli braced for an outburst.

“The car’s here,” Tauriel’s sing-song voice floated through to the pair of men having a stand-off in the kitchen. She preened herself in the mirror that was just alongside the front door, paying them no attention.

Legolas gritted his teeth and turned, stalking back to the door and picking up his keys and phone on the way.

“Have fun!” Gimli trilled, and Legolas shot him a death stare as both he and Tauriel left the house. As Legolas slid into the car, a haze descended over him once more. Tauriel was talking about some actress or another, criticising her no doubt, but Legolas merely turned his head and closed his eyes.

_“Ada! Ada we shouldn’t be arriving in the same car!” Legolas grinned despite himself. He bit his lip and shut his eyes as Thranduil nuzzled into his neck, his nose brushing against the starched collar of his tuxedo._

_“I wanted to kiss you before your premiere,” Thranduil growled, taking the skin of Legolas’ neck in his mouth and biting down gently._

_“Ada!” Legolas gasped, his hands flying up to dig into the shoulder of Thranduil’s own tux. Thranduil hummed in satisfaction and trailed his kisses upwards; over Legolas’ ear, nipping gently at his jawline, ghostly softly over his cheek, pressing carefully to his swollen lips._

_Thranduil had surprised Legolas by being in the limo that picked him up at his hotel. It was the night of one of his many premieres, and he had been pining for his father ever since he had left him in Vancouver that morning. He would have seen him again soon enough, but he pined for him all the same. It was a dream come true, having Thranduil in his arms while he rode to the theatre; it was as though he could pretend that they didn’t have to hide._

_“You shouldn’t have… oh gods…” Legolas’ voice cracked and hitched when Thranduil brushed his hand over his groin. He smiled smugly against Legolas’ lips and kissed away the words he was trying to say. Legolas sagged back into the plush leather seat, surrendering to his father’s advances. He couldn’t bring himself to argue when it was all he had wanted for so long. It felt like a giddy dream to have Thranduil with him. The retired actor usually avoided any appearance Legolas made, lest there was suspicion of their closeness. But Thranduil always watched him from afar; he always sat with Smaug’s head in his lap in front of the TV and watched his son in his triumphs._

_“Ada!” Legolas itched to run his hands through Thranduil’s hair, but he restrained himself. It would not do for either of them to look ruffled when exiting the limo. His pants were already tented, the seams stretched and straining as his cock responded to Thranduil’s touch, and it would only take a few minutes for them to reach their destination._

_Thranduil chuckled and ceased his kissing, giving Legolas a chance to compose himself._

_“Why did you decide to come?” Legolas whispered as he made sure his hair was in order. Thranduil watched his son with eyes still swirling with want._

_“I missed you.”_

_Legolas smirked and turned in his seat, leaning up against Thranduil’s shoulder as he pursed his lips and smiled coyly. “We’ve only been apart for a few hours.”_

_Thranduil brushed his fingers against Legolas’ cheekbone, swiping away a smudge of the lighter shade of foundation he’d left on his son’s face. “Even one minute is too long, iôn-nín.”_

_Legolas blushed and placed a gentle kiss to his father’s lips, savouring their moment of happiness. “Who’s looking after Smaug?”_

_“Galion; we may return to a bloodbath.” Thranduil smirked. The Rottweiler and his personal assistant had never seen eye-to-eye. Galion was wary of the large, vicious-looking dog, and Smaug was always protective of his home and his masters – any outside entity that did not carry treats was seen as undesirable._

_Legolas laughed, imagining the growling and the destruction that poor Galion would be subjected to. Thranduil returned the chuckle and slid his arms around Legolas’ shoulders; pulling him against his body and resting their foreheads together as they were driven through the streets of Los Angeles._

“Legolas? Hello? Did you hear what I said?” Tauriel was halfway out of the car while waving a hand in front of Legolas’ face.

“Hmm? What?”

“I’m going shopping; I’ll see you at the party this evening.”

Legolas nodded mutely, his attention not completely held by Tauriel. His mind was still in that limo with his father; cuddled together and happy. He gazed blankly out of the tinted window as the car left Tauriel and headed towards the read-through venue. He tried to stop the memories invading his mind, but they tortured him relentlessly, as they always had.

It was the small things that seemed to hurt the most. He longed for the comforting smell of his father, for the way he used to slide into bed and cuddle right up against Legolas’ shoulder, for the way silly way he used to tempt Smaug into licking Legolas’ toes to wake him up, the way he would clutch at his stomach and laugh when Legolas woke to spit covered feet, the way he used to look at him when Legolas climbed on top of him in retaliation for such a prank… Gods.

It was too much for Legolas, who was rifling through the tiny cupboards and glove compartments of the car before he could torture himself any more. He found a miniature bottle of whiskey stashed away and immediately downed the contents. The brown liquid slid down his throat and burned away the pain that was swirling in his heart. The alcohol set a fire burning in his cheeks and he took a deep breath. A familiar numbness spread through his limbs, steadily removing all feeling from him. It was bitter, glorious relief, and Legolas downed another tiny bottle without a moment’s hesitation. The driver of the car threw Legolas a look of consternation, before he dutifully averted his eyes.

By the time the car pulled up in front of a waiting crowd of paparazzi, Legolas hate a sedate buzz that blunted the corners of the jagged edges of pain he was feeling. He braced an arm against the door as he readied himself for the onslaught; camera flashes already popping through the tinted windows.

The clawing and the flashes and the shouts of “Legolas!” nearly deafened him as he slipped from the car into the waiting horde. He had never been very good with crowds of people and his anxiety lit the cold sweat that had begun on his forehead into a raging fire. Legolas gulped and raised a hand to his eyes, blocking the flashes and shielding his face from the cameras.

“Legolas! Over here.”

“Any comment about working with your father after all these years?”

“Have you two spoken about the film? Have you spoken at all?”

“Legolas!”

Legolas waded through the throng of people as best he could, though he was purposefully blocked with ever step he took. Eventually, one photographer got too close and Legolas was jostled to the side. Rage sprung up in his eyes at being touched and he spun, still a good few metres from the door to the building that was his destination. Flashes blinded him and he blinked rapidly to try and clear his vision. But there were more flashes, and more popping lights behind his eyes when he closed them. As he was surrounded on all sides, the rage that had sprung up soon mutated into fear and helplessness. Legolas tried to remember where the door was; he tried to find it blindly, but only ended up grappling at the paparazzi.

And then the flashes cleared for long enough so that Legolas could see. He blinked and rubbed a hand over his eyes, the whiskey and the disorientation momentarily confusing him.

“Get out of the goddamn way,” a voice rumbled through the crowd. A growl accompanied the voice, low and dangerous, and Legolas felt a strong hand grip his bicep through the thin shirt he wore. There were a few more tentative flashes, and a call or two were ventured, but the crowd kept their distance as Legolas was dragged inside the building and the door swung closed behind him.

Legolas gasped in a lungful of air, his body immediately calming. He was in a large, empty foyer, and the relief from the crowd was instant. He could breathe and think once more, and his adrenaline began to cool in his veins.

But then it spiked nauseatingly when he took in the sight before him.

Thranduil was staring at him, not more than a few steps away, a maroon leather jacket draped over his strong shoulders and a pair of large rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his delicate nose. His flowing blonde hair was scraped behind his ears and his heavy eyebrows were furrowed in an expression of absolute adorable consternation. Clasped in his hand was the end of a lead that trailed down to clasp onto a diamante-studded collar that wrapped around a large Rottweiler’s neck.

“Are you alright?” Thranduil’s voice was tentative and barely above a whisper.

Legolas’ arm burned where he had touched him. His flesh was scalded, it bubbled and crawled and pounded with imaginary pain. Vomit threatened to spring up Legolas’ throat, but it was Thranduil’s caring expression that sent his mind into oblivion. His piercing blue eyes were tender and worried through his glasses.

_“Gods, I look old.” Thranduil prodded the glasses that he had placed on his face only moments before. He straightened them and sighed, raising an eyebrow at his reflection._

_“You look beautiful.” Legolas appeared behind him in the mirror. He wrapped his arms around his father’s waist, his hands smoothing over the wrinkles in his t-shirt and caressing the defined abs he felt beneath._

_“I think I’m getting crow’s feet,” Thranduil moaned, tilting his head up to look down his nose at the corners of his eyes. He lifted a finger to run up his forehead, smoothing the very slight wrinkles that matched the furrows of his frown lines._

_Legolas’ eyes rolled back in his head and he stood on his toes, nuzzling his nose into the nape of Thranduil’s neck. “You are absolutely beautiful, Ada. They’re only glasses, and I think they make you look even sexier.”_

_Thranduil smirked and leaned back into his son’s bare arms. He dropped his hands from smoothing out his wrinkles and instead wrapped them around Legolas’ wrists, squeezing gently._

_“You like the nerdy look then?”_

_“Not nerdy…” Legolas mumbled, pressing a tiny kiss to the place where Thranduil’s neck met the tendons in his shoulder. “… distinguished.”_

_Thranduil scoffed, but smiled nonetheless. How could he not be pleased when his younger lover was pressed against him from behind and caressing him so tenderly?_

_“Are all your professor fantasies going to surface?” Thranduil teased, and Legolas’ eyes widened. He paused in his small kisses and met his father’s eyes reflected in the mirror of their bedroom._

_“Whatever do you mean, Professor Oropherion?” Legolas dropped his voice, his tone silky smooth and dripping with sultry innuendo. Thranduil groaned and spun in his son’s arms, reaching for his face and pressing their lips together before Legolas could utter another word. Legolas chuckled through his father’s insistent kisses and managed to mutter, “I think I need some one-on-one help with my essay, Professor,” in-between the ferocious clashing of lips._

_Thranduil growled and shoved Legolas backwards. The back of his sweat-pant clad knees hit the low frame and they buckled. He sat down harshly, his hair mussed to the left, a distinctly peach blush on his cheeks and a lewd tent in his pants. Thranduil wasted no time in climbing a top him, a knee on either side of Legolas’ body, and he slipped his hand past his pants and around his straining cock. Legolas bucked into the welcome touch and reached up, grazing his lips against Thranduil’s panting mouth._

_“I don’t think it’s me with the professor fantasies…”_

_Thranduil merely twisted the hand that was wrapped around his son’s cock and gave his erection a rough tug as they fell backwards._

Smaug’s happy bark brought Legolas back to the present and his hazy eyes met Thranduil’s once more. _Gods_ , he had forgotten about those glasses. He had forgotten how much fun they had had with their ‘professor’ roleplaying.

Smaug strained at his collar and lead and he leapt forwards, intent on bounding over to Legolas. He squeaked and writhed when Thranduil held him back. He could smell the scent of Legolas and was desperate to greet the master that he remembered. Legolas did not think twice about descending down onto his haunches and holding out both arms to the squirming Rottweiler.

As soon as Legolas neared his level, Smaug began to scream in excitement and he tugged free of Thranduil’s hold. He barrelled forwards, jumping into Legolas’ arms and licking his face repeatedly. Legolas thought of all the make-up he wore for a moment, but he was soon ruffling Smaug’s black fur between his fingers as though they had never been parted. Though the dog was large and well built, the passage of time had taken its toll. Smaug had many more grey hairs flecking his fur than Legolas remembered, and his licking and nuzzling did not seemed to be as forceful as it used to be.

Tears prickled at the corners of Legolas’ eyes and he stroked and cuddled with Smaug on the floor of the foyer. He had missed so much of Smaug’s life; he was astounded that the dog remembered him. He had changed, grown older and weaker, and he had not been there. He hadn’t been there to take him for walks, wrestle with him in the mud, and give him awkward baths. So much time had been stolen from him. It was yet another reason for him to hate his father.

A small, pained smile flittered over Thranduil’s lips as he watched his son and his dog greet one another with licks and scratches and much nuzzling and petting. It was a sight that triggered so many happy memories, now tinged with notes of heartache and pain. He took a step forwards, and then another, his eyes trained on where his son sat, a Rottweiler in his lap and a large smile on his face. His arms ached to hold Legolas; his hands itched to bury themselves in his shiny blonde hair, his lips quivered in their need to be joined to his love’s once more.

Thranduil had thought that the time, the distance and the festering hate that he knew Legolas felt would have been enough to control his feelings. Instead of having power over his emotions, Thranduil found himself laid bare and trembling, though he tried to keep his face impassive.

“Ah, you brought Smaug!” Elrond’s voice floated over, followed by the man himself. But Elrond’s words tapered off when he saw how affected Thranduil was, and his eyes widened when he saw who was playing with Smaug on the floor.

Thranduil placed his palms against his cheeks hurriedly, swiping away a stray tear and using all of his vast acting experience to school his face into an expression of nonchalance.

“Is everyone here?” he asked Elrond, bending down to swipe up the end of Smaug’s lead. He tugged on it more forcefully than he intended, dragging his dog away from Legolas.

“Yes,” Elrond said tentatively, looking to Legolas while answering Thranduil.

“Good, good…” Thranduil mumbled as he strode away, dragging Smaug with him. The dog put up some resistance to being parted from Legolas, but soon he was trotting alongside his master as he fled.

Elrond was left alone with Legolas, who looked up at him with huge, sad eyes. He said nothing – _there was nothing to say_ – and extended his hand to help Legolas up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thank you very much for reading! It is much appreciated! <3**
> 
> All the art for this fan fiction is provided by [plotbunniesincolour](http://plotbunniesincolour.tumblr.com/). Check out the [commissions section](http://plotbunniesincolour.tumblr.com/commissioninfo) if you would like any digital art for your blog/fan fiction/website.
> 
> **Have a lovely day! <3**


	4. Landslide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Well I've been afraid of changing  
> Cause I built my life around you  
> But times makes you bolder  
> Even children get older  
> And I'm getting older, too
> 
> I take my love, take it down  
> Oh, climb the mountain and turn around  
> And if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills  
> Will the landslide bring it down?  
> And if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills  
> Will the landslide bring it down?  
> Well the landslide'll bring you down
> 
> \- [Landslide](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b_uKmKtC4Mk) (Robyn Sherwell)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Here is the new chapter! :) I'm sorry it's a bit late today, but I've had a pretty hectic week and needed the morning to proofread and finish off the artwork O.o I have officially moved cities, and am now getting ready to move to Canada for film school! Woo! 
> 
> Anyway! Thank you to everyone who left a comment last week! It really means a lot! Please consider leaving some feedback for this chapter, I'd love to know your opinions! Also, if you'd like to subscribe to this story, just hit the subscribe button at the top of the page <3
> 
> I highly suggest that you listen to [Landslide](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b_uKmKtC4Mk) by Robyn Sherwell while reading this chapter. I used it for inspiration! <3
> 
> Enjoy x

Legolas was taking shallow, halting breaths as he walked into the room full of actors. While his entrance went unnoticed by the vast majority, Legolas felt as though all eyes were on him. He kept his head down and his eyes averted while he tried to find his name and his seat. He hadn’t been to a read-through in years and he felt uneasy in the presence of so many actors, in the bright light of day, with only a few tiny whiskeys to dull his senses. He’d had a few bit parts, countless dodgy cameos and more embarrassing adverts than he would have liked. He was out of practice, and he was sure that it showed.

He made out his name eventually, on the far side of the room, and bolted over to it with his head dipped. He sat down quickly, unwilling to linger and chat as the rest of his colleagues were. Chatting would inevitably lead to a discussion of his reputation and exploits, and he needed more than cheap whisky to bolster himself for such conversations.

Legolas raised his eyes cautiously, taking in the people from a safe distance. Elrond was lingering near to a huddled group of producers, intermittently throwing glances over to Legolas. He looked worried, as he always did when he looked at Legolas, and he smiled encouragingly across the room every time he caught Legolas’ eye. A few of the producers that were hanging around Elrond looked to Legolas suspiciously, their bushy eyebrows twitching; no doubt waiting for him to embarrass himself in some way. He couldn’t blame them; he did have a reputation for the inappropriate.

A few of the cast were clustered together near the front of the room. They were all strangers to one another and used the time for introductions and first impressions. A niggling voice in the back of Legolas’ mind, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Thranduil, told him that it was rude to sit alone and avoid everyone, but he could not bring himself to get to his feet. So he sat, examining the actors.

There were two scruffy men, both around the same height, one with bushy blonde facial hair and the other with a shock of dark hair and a scraggly excuse for a beard. There was a group of four men who looked the same; all had slicked back hair, hipster glasses, and ironic waistcoats. They registered as familiar to Legolas, and he was sure they were some sort of boyband-turned-acting troupe. There were a few actresses milling around, most notably a tall, ethereal looking girl who could not have been much older than Legolas had been on his first film. She looked about as nervous as he had been and she was standing a little way away from the main pack. She was listening to the conversations being had intently, though seemed unsure of how to contribute.

Legolas quickly looked to his hands when she caught his eye, and he fumbled with the water bottle that was in front of him. His hands were trembling as he screwed open the lid and let the liquid slide down his throat. He would have preferred it to be vodka. When he lowered the bottle, the pretty, dark-haired actress had taken the seat next to him. He jumped, and she apologised for sneaking up on him before introducing herself.

“Arwen,” she said softly, half of her face hidden behind a curtain of brunette hair, “This is my first film. Can you tell?”

Legolas took the hand she offered and gave it a shake. She looked relieved to be talking to someone.

“My father has told me all about you, I’m a big fan,” she smiled warmly at Legolas; her kind eyes making him feel somewhat at ease. It was both endearing and terribly sad to meet someone still so filled with optimism and kindness. He wondered how long it would take for her eyes to dull in the realisation of what the profession was truly about.

“Your father?” Legolas asked, wondering who would let their daughter into the horrific freak show that was show business.

“That would be me,” Elrond had approached them without Legolas noticing, and placed a protective hand on his daughter’s shoulder. He looked down to Legolas with hardened eyes, though he could still make out the worry that lingered there.

“How are you, Elrond?” Legolas asked politely. Elrond was one of the few people on earth Legolas still held even a glimmer of respect for.

“I’ve been well,” Elrond answered, not bothering to return the inquiry. He knew how Legolas had been. Everyone knew how Legolas had been. Most people were intimately familiar with the debauched pictures that were regularly leaked to the tabloids.

“You’re coming to the party later?” Arwen asked, her eyes hopeful that her newly made friend would be there.

Elrond interrupted before Legolas could answer that he would indeed be going.

“You’re only nineteen, darling, you won’t be allowed in.”

Arwen pouted but never got the chance to argue with her father. It was at that moment that Galion entered, his arms full of scripts and his long hair a little frazzled.

“Can everyone take their seats?” he called out to the room, “We’ll be starting soon!” He began depositing scripts at every place set at the arrangement of tables. Long, thin desks were arranged together in such a way that they created a large rectangle that spanned the entire room. Everyone in the room had been organised around the table in accordance with their roles or duties.

Arwen smiled at Legolas one last time before she left him to take a seat further down the table. Elrond was seated on the opposite side to his daughter, yet he kept an eye on Arwen as he took his seat. It was obvious that Elrond had only joined the production to keep an eye on his innocent young daughter, and Legolas felt a jolt of sadness lance through his heart at seeing a father so concerned about his child. He envied and pitied Arwen in equal amounts.

Legolas glanced up at Galion, his father’s personal assistant, as he moved around the table and slipped a script onto the desk in front of him. They locked eyes for a long moment and Galion opened his mouth slightly to say something, but then he thought better of it and moved past Legolas without a word.

Legolas sighed, wishing for the earth to swallow him up, and looked down to the script. Thranduil and Elrond were listed as writers; a change from the version of the script he had thrown against a wall. Elrond had obviously been brought in to help. The working title had also changed, and now was proudly proclaimed as ‘Song as Old as Rhyme’ on the front cover.

Legolas’ breath became stuck in his throat as visceral, indelible memories of his time on the set of Tale as Old as Time flooded back to him. He remembered sitting in a room very similar to the one he was currently in, awaiting his very first read-through. He remembered his nerves and his tenuous relationship with his father at the time. He also remembered the way Thranduil had helped him, cared for him, and brought out the best in him. He remembered that first kiss, when he had pressed his lips to his father’s while a crowd had cheered them on. Gods, if only he had known how it would all turn out, he never would have taken the part. He would have stayed in London and lead a quiet life.

And then Legolas had trouble breathing for a different reason. Thranduil strode in to the room, his glasses pushed back in his hair and Smaug trailing behind him, sniffing every conceivable inch of the building. His father looked paler than usual and his nose was a dusty red colour at the tip, as if he had been rubbing it, but his eyes were as grey and cold as ever. Galion whispered a few words into Thranduil’s ear before he scurried away and shut the door behind him, leaving the group alone to conduct the read-through.

Thranduil had a seat at the head of the long table, and Legolas noticed that he was placed as far away as possible from his father. He wondered if it was a coincidence, or if Galion had been ordered to make sure Legolas was well out of Thranduil’s eye-line. Whatever the case, Thranduil took his seat and unclipped Smaug’s lead, allowing the Rottweiler to hop up onto the chair next to him. Legolas had not noticed that the place set next to his father read ‘Smaug’.

Smaug revelled in the attention that he received, his tail wagging furiously as he was ruffled and petted by the producer sitting next to him. There was much general cooing in his direction, and his pink tongue lolled out of his mouth happily.

“Alright,” Thranduil finally spoke, slipping his glasses back down onto his face and swiping at his nose as he opened the script and flipped to the first page. “Let’s start with everyone introducing themselves.”

Legolas wanted to run and hide. He wanted to die; right there and then, at least he would be free of Thranduil and the pain. He wanted to drown his hurt in booze, or pills, or both, or anything. He couldn’t fathom how he would look his father in the eyes and speak, even if it was only from across the room. In the end, Legolas needn’t have worried. Thranduil did not look at him when he spoke, nor did he acknowledge that he even existed, he merely stared down at his script until Legolas was finished.

Smaug was another matter. When Legolas’ familiar voice reached him, he squeaked and shuffled about in the chair, his tongue lolling out even more and his eyes twinkling over at Legolas. The dog did not have eyes for anyone else from that moment forward, and he remained staring at Legolas dreamily for most of the morning. Even when they took a break for lunch, and Legolas ate by himself, Smaug always made sure he was within his field of vision.

Song as Old as Rhyme was not what Legolas had expected. It was a sort of sequel to the film he and his father had made ten years previously, yet it explored the alternate universe that would have transpired had Beau never met the character Thranduil had played. It was a gut-wrenching piece, full of unresolved issues and a very emotionally disturbed Beau, who never had his happy ending. The more they read, the more Legolas listened and watched and sat in his uncomfortable plastic chair, the more he realised that he would not survive performing such a piece without his heart completely disintegrating. It had never become more important to be fired from a project in all his life.

How could his father possibly allow him to be involved in something that he knew must torture him? How could he be so cruel?

Legolas’ mind immediately began to race through ways that could bring about the end of the film. The obvious choice was being permanently drunk or high. To cover all of his bases, both would be the better option. He hadn’t had a proper acting job in years, and that coupled with his propensity to be a tipsy drunk would make working in such a state impossible. One offense would get him a warning; being drunk every day on set would surely get him fired.

But Legolas did not want to spend one more moment with Thranduil than he had to. He didn’t want to be in the same room as his father during costume fittings, rehearsals and dinners; all surely to happen should he remain on the cast. Possibly the worst thought was that he would have to spend hours stuck in an aeroplane with him on the flight to France. No, he would have to try to derail the production before he would ever set foot on set.

Perhaps some inappropriate flirting and a drunken scene at the cast party later that day? Perhaps he could get his hands on some more potent drugs. Would being arrested for possession be enough to get fired?

“Legolas?”

Every single pair of eyes, except for Thranduil’s, were on Legolas. He gulped and shifted about in his seat, trying to find his place in the script. He had to flip through a few pages to find his next lines of dialogue, and the awkward moment was only punctuated by the shuffling of pages and a cough from his left. Being under prepared and lost in thought in the read-through would only help his campaign to be fired, but it was no less embarrassing. At one point in his life he had been an Academy Award winning actor with a bright future, yet now he struggled to even say his lines at a read-through.

The scene continued after Legolas stuttered his words and attention was turned to Arwen as she read her lines flawlessly. Elrond’s gaze lingered on Legolas, his eyes sad, before they flicked to his daughter. The pride that radiated from the screenwriter made Legolas want to vomit.

Legolas kept his head down until his cheeks had returned to their normal colour. He lifted his eyes to see Smaug staring intently at him, his soft brown eyes wondering why Legolas had not come over to play with him. It killed Legolas to be so far away from him; he must have been so terribly confused when Legolas did not return to him all those years ago.

_Gods, he hated his father._

Legolas’ eyes trailed over to Thranduil, almost unconsciously, as he thought of his hate. Whether it was coincidence or the fact that Thranduil could feel the animosity radiating from his son, their eyes met. Thranduil stared at Legolas, straight at him, for a few seconds, though those seconds felt like decades.

Legolas’ heart pounded in his chest and he broke out in a cold sweat immediately. Thranduil’s eyes lanced straight through him, they cut into his vulnerable heart and sliced through the many, many defences he’d tried to build over the years. He was transported back in time, back to when he longed to kiss those lips every moment of the day, back to when he could kiss Thranduil’s lips. Back then, Legolas would not have been able to keep his hands off of his father had he worn such a leather jacket. With his hair scraped back and his glasses making him look so utterly gorgeous, Legolas would not have been able to restrain himself from stealing a kiss when they were alone. Gods, Thranduil was still so beautiful, and Legolas hated himself for thinking it.

_He hated his father._

But then the moment was gone; Thranduil turned his attention back to the reading of his script, and Legolas was left staring at him like a fool. But all he could feel was lust and hate, intertwined and intermingled in his heart and mind until all he could discern was the need he had to be violently sick.

**§§§**

Thranduil was being violently ill. He gasped and shoved the hair that had flopped in front of his face out of his eyes, scraping it back with his glasses. He stood, pushing himself up front the floor with great effort, and flushed the toilet that he had been throwing up in. Smaug whined and nuzzled his wet nose against the leg of Thranduil’s pants as he moved to a basin and splashed water over his face.

Seeing Legolas again had taken more of a toll on him than he had expected. Seeing Legolas looking so utterly distraught, surrounded by paparazzi, and then so completely happy with Smaug, had almost broken him. He had almost crouched down, taken Legolas’ face in his hands, and pressed their lips together, as if no time had passed since they had last seen one another. He had been so close to begging for his son’s forgiveness. It was all he wanted; to feel Legolas’ lips on his again, even if it was for the last time, and he had almost given in to his urges. And gods, Legolas had looked so perfect, so beautiful and joyful, that he had nearly forgotten all that had happened between them.

Elrond’s fortuitous entrance had prevented him from doing something stupid and had pulled him back to a harsh reality, one where Legolas was a mess and he was barely holding himself together. He had dragged Smaug away and dashed to the bathroom, feeling bile fill his throat and mouth.

Now his stomach was empty, but the pain he felt was still there. Smaug whimpered a little louder, desperate to know if his master was okay. Thranduil dropped a hand to pat his head; giving him the reassurance he craved but doing nothing to quell his own desperation. He had thought that he could handle seeing his son again, he had thought that time would have cooled his feelings. He had convinced himself that he no longer had feelings for his son. But seeing Legolas, so close and so vulnerable, had confirmed his worst fears. He was still in love with him, completely and irrevocably in love with him, and he knew he always would be.

Thranduil retched over the sink as his thoughts raced, but nothing came out of his mouth. He was empty, body and soul.

“Thranduil?” Galion’s voiced echoed through the bathroom. Thranduil heaved in a shuddering breath and tried to pull himself together. He rubbed at his nose and smoothed down his hair, taking deep breaths as he did so.

“Thranduil?” Galion’s voice was closer, just behind his shoulder. “Everyone is ready.”

Thranduil nodded, his eyes finding Galion’s in the mirror. His assistant was looking at him with deep concern, not an expression usually seen on his face. After a few moments, Galion stepped forwards and came level with Thranduil, turning to face him.

He could clearly see how distressed Thranduil was and he said the only thing he could think of to make him feel better; “It wasn’t your fault, you had no choice.”

Thranduil nodded once more, dipping his eyes. He had had to tell someone, and Galion had been the natural choice. He had been with him for many years and remained loyal to his employer. Galion had understood more than he ever could have hoped, and he had kept him sane more than once over the years.

“You can’t keep blaming yourself, Thranduil. Legolas has no idea how much you have sacrificed to protect him.”

Thranduil knew all this. He knew it, in his head, that he had had no other option. But his heart screamed at him, filling him with guilt at what he had done to his beautiful son. He was consumed by the guilt; it was with him night and day. Every time he read about his son’s exploits, or how Legolas had entered yet another rehab, the wound he had created was opened anew. He had been bleeding from his heart for five whole years.

“The…” Thranduil sniffed, rubbing at his nose, “… the scripts are on the-”

“I know,” Galion interrupted, placing a tentative hand on Thranduil’s shoulder. He gave him a resigned look, patted him once, and then turned to leave Thranduil to make himself presentable. Usually, Thranduil hated being touch for no apparent reason, but he found that he took comfort in the small show of Galion’s affection.

Thranduil cleared his throat and brushed over the tip of his nose again, making sure that he looked halfway decent in the mirror, before he took Smaug’s lead and headed out to face Legolas once more.

**§§§**

Legolas could not get away quickly enough. The read-through and the gathering afterwards had lasted well into the afternoon and he was exhausted; his body was not used to such concentration and stress. He had deliberately avoided such situations for years. He had promised that he would take Tauriel to the cast party later that evening, but he could barely keep his eyes open. She only wanted to get drunk and party with other actors, and that could be arranged at their house. Legolas could not have been bothered to give too much thought as to how she would feel; all he registered was his own fatigue.

When Legolas’ car pulled up, he was infinitely grateful. He needed a bath, a nap, and a stiff drink. He also needed a fool-proof way to get fired, but that was perhaps a task for the morning. Legolas slid into the soft leather seats and sighed, leaning his head against the headrest and closing his eyes. It had been one of the worst days of his life so far, having to be in the same room as Thranduil for so many hours, and he tried to relax the tension that had gathered in his shoulders and forehead.

“Hey!” A sweet voice chirped next to him, and Legolas’ eyes flew open. He swivelled his head around so quickly that he felt dizzy.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you!”

“Arwen!”

Arwen smiled a large, toothy grin at Legolas and wrung her hands in her lap. Her eyes held the twinkling of mischief and happiness.

“What the hell are you doing in my car?” Legolas grumbled, his heart rate returning to normal after the shock of finding Elrond’s daughter next to him.

“My father won’t allow me to go to the cast party. It’s at a club and he says I won’t get in, but you can get me in? Right?” Arwen looked at him as though he could move mountains if he wished. It had been an exceptionally long time since anyone had looked at Legolas like that.

“Right?” Arwen ventured when Legolas did not answer. “Oh, please, Legolas. It’s my first one and I don’t want to miss it!”

Legolas stared at her for a moment. He could recognise his younger self in her, and he couldn’t bring himself to quash her hopes. Ten years ago, he would have killed to be at a cast party. But now, all he saw was a chance to cause chaos.

Though he was mentally and physically exhausted, Legolas could not pass up an opportunity to illegally sneak Elrond’s naïve, nineteen-year-old daughter into a club full of drunken actors and sleazy producers. Perhaps he’d buy her a drink or two, maybe let her have a drag of his joint, just so that she was hazy enough to be unable to get home by herself. And then he’d call Elrond, and he’d be livid. He would shout and curse and hopefully demand for Legolas to be fired. Perhaps he’d threaten to pull out of the film; perhaps he’d demand that Arwen leave if Legolas stayed? Surely the producers would rather fire Legolas than lose both Arwen and Elrond?

And then he would be free. He’d be free to crawl back into his bed and drink himself into oblivion, as he had been trying to do for nigh on five years. He would be free of the pain and the hurt, and he could try his hardest to forget about Thranduil. He would drink, snort and smoke his way through enough illegal substances that he hoped he no longer remembered who he was, never mind what Thranduil used to mean to him.

“I can get you in,” Legolas said languidly, smiling a little and stretching out across the seat. Though he recognised his younger self in Arwen, he was his father’s child. He knew how to manipulate a situation to his own advantage; he’d watched Thranduil do it for years. If he was lucky, and timed his plans to perfection, perhaps he could be fired and curled up in his bed before the end of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thank you very much for reading! It is much appreciated! <3**
> 
> All the art for this fan fiction is provided by [plotbunniesincolour](http://plotbunniesincolour.tumblr.com/). Check out the [commissions section](http://plotbunniesincolour.tumblr.com/commissioninfo) if you would like any digital art for your blog/fan fiction/website.
> 
> **Have a lovely day! <3**


	5. Dancing On My Own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  So far away but still so near  
> The lights go on, the music dies  
> But you don't see me standing here  
> I just came to say goodbye
> 
> \- [Dancing On My Own](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J294A-R1Cjk) (Robyn)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Here is the chapter! I'm sorry it's so late, I've been having some visa drama :( Thank you so much for all the lovely support on the last chapter! You've all made me very happy, and I hope you enjoy this. 
> 
> I highly suggest that you listen to [Dancing On My Own](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J294A-R1Cjk) by Robyn while reading this chapter. I used it for inspiration! <3
> 
> Enjoy x

 

Legolas lifted the hundred-dollar bill between his fingers upwards, casually waving it at the scantily clad waitress that was taking his drink order. He glanced at her for a moment, raking his eyes up and down, and then arched an eyebrow. It was expected of him, and he had become used to faking his interest in women. He knew how to leer, to stare outright, and how to acquire almost any female’s phone number. He had it down to a fine art, yet his follow through was non-existent. He had his live-in beard, and she was more than enough work to keep happy.

The music was thudding around him, vibrating through his chest, as Tauriel approached him. She was wearing a ridiculously tiny top, skin-tight pants, and a distasteful amount of make-up, but Legolas could see nearly every pair of eyes follow her across the crowed room. He could also see how they glared at him in jealously when Tauriel took a seat on his lap and reached over to touch his face. His carefully crafted image of being a relentless ladies-man was alive and well, all perfectly choreographed and insisted upon by Gimli.

But there was one pair of eyes that were not concerned with Tauriel. Thranduil sat directly across from Legolas, water clasped in one hand and the other fist clenched by his side. He was a fair distance away, seated with some producers and a few assistant screenwriters, but Legolas could plainly see his eyes glinting in the low light of the club. The tacky décor and luminous lights that flooded the room threw odd shapes and sickly colours onto Thranduil, but there was no mistaking the stare that was directed at Legolas.

Legolas could almost feel the waves of disapproval rolling over him from Thranduil’s direction. But all he could do was smirk, take a long sip to finish his nearly empty drink, and wrap an arm around Tauriel’s waist. She cooed some nonsense at him before she pushed their lips together, her red lipstick smudging all over Legolas’ face. Legolas closed his eyes against the strobe lights and concentrated on the lips that were smothering his; Tauriel tasted of synthetic make-up, vodka, and lingering notes of marijuana. Legolas scrunched his brow, trying to will his mind to find pleasure in the kiss, but all he could think of was the man glaring at him from across the room.

Thranduil invaded Legolas’ addled mind without mercy. All he could see when he closed his eyes was his father’s beautiful face; his endless expanse of pale porcelain skin, his piercing blue eyes, and his flowing golden hair. He could feel Thranduil’s perfect lips against his, he could feel his hard body pressed into his chest, he could feel the way his father responded to his touch…

Tauriel squeaked in surprise when Legolas gripped her cheeks and twisted, forcing his tongue into her mouth while moaning lewdly. She was shocked for only a second, before she smirked against Legolas and returned his affection.

By the time Tauriel and Legolas eventually parted, both gasping for air, Thranduil had disappeared and all eyes were now focused on another sight. What good was it making out with Tauriel when no one was looking? Legolas frowned and looked to what was holding the attention of those around him.

He’d left Arwen to her own devices once they had entered the club, only staying with her long enough to buy her a strong drink and let her take a drag of a joint. She would find her own trouble, he was sure, and she seemed to be proving him correct. She was clearly affected by the sheer amount of alcohol she had consumed, and was dancing by herself in front of the area roped off for the cast and crew of _Song as Old as Rhyme_. Her dark hair was a mess, mussed over her shoulder and tucked behind her ears, and her eyes were red and her pupils dilated. She had a drink clasped in one hand and the other hung limply at her side as she swayed in time to the thudding music.

Legolas felt a tiny flutter of guilt, but it lasted only a moment. It was not his fault. If it hadn’t been him, someone else would have taken advantage of her. She would have to learn sometime, and sooner was better that later. Legolas had convinced himself that he was actually doing the young actress a favour, and the corner of his lips hitched into a small smirk. A deep, twisted part of him revelled in the potential for utter chaos his actions would cause. All he needed now was the arrival of Elrond.

When a smarmy, creepy looking man approached Arwen, Legolas saw his chance. He stood suddenly, displacing a disgruntled Tauriel, and dug around in his pocket for his phone. Calling Elrond now would see him arrive to find his only daughter drunk, high and in the clutches of a much older man. It was perfect.

But Legolas did not get the chance to make the call. Before he could even make it down the corridor to the back exit, he felt fingers grip onto his arm and yank him away from the crowd.

Legolas growled, actually growled deep in his throat, as he was pulled away from the main room of the club, down a tacky, fur-lined corridor, and dragged into a recess that sunk into the wall. It was a dank, shadowy alcove that smelled of stale urine and smoke. He was shoved up against the fur with strong hands gripping his shoulders and strong arms keeping him there. They were alone and obscured from view by their position.

“What the fuck do you think you are doing?” Thranduil’s voiced gasped, his breath puffing out over Legolas’ face. His eyes blazed blue and his skin was flushed. Legolas was momentarily struck dumb by the closeness of his former-lover and the disgust evident on his beautiful face. But then he returned to his senses and began to struggle against Thranduil’s hold. His father had always been stronger than him, and he kept him pinned relatively easily.

“Legolas!” Thranduil hissed, shaking him a little. Legolas squirmed and tried with all his might to slip free. But he was tipsy and high and no match for a stone cold sober Thranduil.

“What? What do you want from me?” Legolas whined, not caring how petulant he sounded. He needed to call Elrond. He needed to be as far away as possible from his father. He needed another drink. He didn’t need this.

“I want to know what the hell you think you’re doing with Elrond’s daughter!” Thranduil growled, his fingers digging in to Legolas’ shirt at the shoulders. It hurt, it would leave bruises, but Legolas welcomed the pain. It distracted him from the way Thranduil’s breath fluttered over his skin and warmed his mouth. _Gods, he remembered how Thranduil tasted_. He remembered the way he kissed. _Gods._

“She asked me to get her in,” Legolas mumbled, not daring to look into his father’s eyes. Instead he stared resolutely at the creases in Thranduil’s leather jacket.

“She’s underage, Legolas, and you’ve been plying her with alcohol and weed. For gods’ sake! What kind of stunt are you trying to pull? Elrond will be absolutely livid!” Thranduil huffed, his eyebrows knitting together in frustration and incredulity, “Are you trying to get yourself fired or something?” The statement had been in jest, but Legolas did not laugh. He merely stared at Thranduil’s strong shoulder, trying to forget that his father was so close. Gods, he was pressed _so closely_ to him; he could feel every contour of Thranduil’s body.

Thranduil blanched and his grip on Legolas slackened in shock. With his voice barely above a whisper he asked, “Are you trying to get yourself fired?”

Legolas remained silent, his eyes glazed and unseeing. Thranduil had always known how to read him, how could he have been so stupid as to think he wouldn’t figure it out? Legolas yelped in surprise when Thranduil shook him, this time hard enough to bump his head back against the wall.

“Why the _fuck_ would you want to do that!” Thranduil shouted, anger now filling his veins, “Don’t you realise how important this is for you? Don’t you understand what will _happen_ if you get fired from yet another film?”

Legolas’ anger flared up then, the beast in his chest demanding blood for being scolded by his father in such a way. It was _Thranduil’s_ fault that he was in such a predicament. It was _Thranduil’s_ fault that he had to work with him. _Everything was Thranduil’s_ fault. How could he stand there and reprimand him as if he was a stupid child?

Legolas pushed Thranduil’s arms outwards, swinging his arms up between them, and Thranduil stumbled forwards as his grip was broken. Adrenaline pumped through Legolas’ veins, making him bolder and stronger than he would usually be. He sunk his fingers deep into the material of Thranduil’s shirt, gripping the collar and forcing his father forwards. Thranduil, though surprised at first by Legolas’ actions, was soon pushing back as he was dragged to within a hair’s breadth of his son’s face.

Legolas stood as tall as he possibly could, his jaw clenched and twitching and his eyes filled with a barely supressed rage. He shook visibly as he spat, “I am trying to get fired so that I don’t have to see _your_ goddamned face every day.”

Thranduil’s nostrils flared as he gulped in a breath. Their eyes were locked, blue piercing blue, and Thranduil could not look away from the strange emotions he saw swimming in Legolas’ irises. He had never known his son to be so angry, so deeply enraged, and it rendered him mute. He had heard of Legolas’ issues, he had made sure to stay well informed, and he had seen his exploits splashed across tabloids, but seeing the beast up close was another matter. Legolas truly despised him.

Thranduil’s heart shuddered in his chest. It cracked a little more, and the pain of losing the love of his life flooded back in crashing waves. What had he done to his lovely son? What had he done to turn his beautiful, kind Legolas into such a monster? How had the man in front of him once been the person he had trusted and cared for most in the world? Though all he had done was to protect Legolas, it seemed to have backfired spectacularly.

_What had he done?_

Thranduil’s eyes darted down to where Legolas’ mouth hung open. He was panting, his lips were red and Thranduil could just see the tip of his tongue behind his sparkling white teeth. He gulped, his breath catching and his eyes flicking back up.

“Legolas…” Thranduil breathed, now not fighting his son’s grip. He leaned into Legolas, he leaned into the forced embrace, and a look of confusion passed over his son’s pretty face. “’Las…” Thranduil said, still no closer to forming words that were not his son’s name. In that moment, he just wanted to make it better. He wanted to rewind time five years and kiss his lover as he used to. He wanted to pour his apology into Legolas’ mouth like a medicine that would heal him.

Legolas’ eyes widened as Thranduil leaned forwards, brushing their noses together. He was not expecting such a response from the venom he had spewed. He had anticipated shouting and manhandling and perhaps some sneering, but not this. He wanted it but was repelled by it simultaneously. He was caught in limbo, craving his father’s lips and wanting nothing more than to punch him squarely in the jaw for daring to breathe his name so delectably.

He had to remind himself that he _hated_ the man who was nudging their noses together. He hated the man who was so tenderly reaching up to rest his large hand on his flushed cheek. He hated the man who made his chest constrict and butterflies climb up his throat. He hated the way he smelled and the way he sighed and the way his glasses bumped against his cheek as their lips grazed over one another’s. Gods. He hated him, he _hated_ him… _he hated him_ …

“Ooh! Is this the bathroom?” A high, slurred voice chirped behind them. Thranduil flinched, immediately letting go of Legolas and pushing back, wrenching them apart. Arwen stood, slumped against a furry wall, her eyes roving over the pair. She seemed to be distracted a moment later by her own handbag, and quickly forgot that she needed the toilet, or whom she had caught in a compromising situation.

Thranduil watched for a moment as she fumbled with the handbag, giggling as a tube of lip-gloss and a credit card fell out. Legolas stood, mouth hanging open, with the ghost of Thranduil’s lips burning into his own. His chest was heaving and falling, his eyes glued to Arwen as she rummaged and giggled and seemed not to notice that she had interrupted what would have been a scalding, bone-chilling kiss.

Legolas reached up to touch his bottom lip. His mind raced, and it was in that moment that Legolas realised that he and Thranduil were far from over. All the distance, all the hate and all the time apart, had done absolutely nothing to dissipate their chemistry. He still wanted Thranduil so much that it physically hurt, and his father seemed to feel the same.

The realisation made Legolas hate Thranduil all the more. It also made him ravenous for his touch. While his mind knew the hurt that he felt, his body remembered the pleasure, and it betrayed him.

Legolas thought he might whimper with unrestrained need when Thranduil turned back to him after appraising Arwen’s state. Thranduil’s eyes were clear, but he too touched his lips and rubbed at the place where Legolas had been so close.

“We need to get her home,” he said, pushing his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. Legolas stared at him, not speaking a word. “Legolas? Did you hear me? We need to take Arwen home and make sure Elrond does not find out about this.”

Legolas could only think of one thing, one glorious thing, and his eyes were fixed to his father’s plump lips. He yearned for them, and he could do nothing but stare, hoping that Thranduil would just grab him and force their mouths together.

“For gods’ sake!” Thranduil barked, and Legolas was pulled forwards as Thranduil grabbed his shirt by the scruff of the neck and pulled him out of the alcove. He was gentler with Arwen, but soon Thranduil was pulling her along by the waist, closely followed by a speechless Legolas.

Arwen was a happy drunk, and she threw an arm around Thranduil and giggled, “Where are we going? Are we going somewhere fun?”

Thranduil nodded, and Arwen squeaked in glee. He guided Arwen through the back exit expertly, managing to keep her balanced on her heels while still keeping an iron grip on his son’s shirt collar. It did not take Thranduil long to locate his car. He always used a driver, and he knew to keep the car close so that Thranduil could make a quick getaway should he need to.

Arwen was easy enough to bundle into the back seat, and she smiled and laughed and petted the driver’s head through the partition as she slid into the limousine. Thranduil was just swinging Legolas around to shove him in after Arwen when his son came out of his hazy state. His hands gripped at the roof of the car, preventing Thranduil from manhandling him in.

“Get in the car, Legolas,” Thranduil growled, his words snipped.

“Let me go,” Legolas rasped back, struggling against his father’s arms.

“I’m taking Arwen home, then you, and then I’m going to pretend that this night did not happen,” Thranduil said, trying to prise Legolas’ fingers from the roof.

“Take you hands off of me!” Legolas said, raising his voice.

“Don’t be so childish. Get in the car!”

“Help! I’m being abducted!”

“Legolas, _for gods’ sake_ …”

“I’m being kidnapped! Help!”

“Fine… fine…” Thranduil stepped back, allowing Legolas to slither out of his grasp. “Find your own way home.” Thranduil turned on his heel, leapt into the car, and slammed the door with all the anger that was pounding through his veins.

Legolas stood, out of breath and panting hard, as he watched the limo pull away from him. He blinked and shook his head, trying to clear his mind of the effects of alcohol and weed. He looked around and found nobody near, just an empty alleyway and the muted thudding coming from the backdoor of the club that had been left ajar. He did not want to go back in, not when his plans had been scuppered so completely.

But then Legolas heard the screeching of tires. The limo reversed slowly, coming to a stop alongside Legolas once more. Legolas gulped as the back door was opened. Thranduil’s eyes met his out of the dimly lit interior, his pale face solemn and pulled tight into a grimace.

“Please get in.” It was a whisper, a mere breath of a resigned man. Legolas hesitated for a moment. But Thranduil’s eyes said it all and Legolas was captivated by the regret that he found there. “I’m not leaving you behind.”

**§§§**

Thranduil sat with his hands clasped in his lap. Arwen was leaning against his shoulder, her head resting against the leather padding of his jacket, and her eyes were closed. She had a big smile on her lips and she was playing with the zipper on Thranduil’s jacket. Legolas sat rigidly in the seat next to her, his eyes fixed forwards and his mind trying to stop himself from throwing little glances in Thranduil’s direction.

The limo was flying through the darkness of Los Angeles and brightly lit streetlamps threw odd, repeating patterns across the three bodies in the back seat. Arwen seemed to enjoy the flickering, and she opened her eyes to look up at Thranduil. She reached up, petting the side of his head gently.

“You’re very pretty,” she slurred, grasping a few strands of Thranduil’s shining blonde hair between her fingers. “Your hair his very pretty.”

Legolas threw his father a sideways look. Thranduil was uncomfortable, as he usually was in the presence of others, but he seemed to be showing the drunken young actress his patient side.

“Thank you, Arwen. You’re pretty too.”

Arwen giggled at the compliment and her head lolled around, her eyes roving over to where Legolas was eyeing the pair.

“You’re very- _hic_ – pretty too, Legolas,” she said seriously despite the mid-sentence hiccup, her big eyes wide. Legolas nodded and pulled his lips into a straight line. He looked away, not wanting to think about how pretty his father was.

“Don’t you think his braids are pretty?” Arwen said, reaching out her fingers to touch the intricate braids at the side of Legolas’ head. She nudged Thranduil; still resting her head against him, “Tell him his braids are pretty?”

Thranduil sighed, but he turned dutifully and took a look at Legolas’ hair. Gods, Arwen was an annoying drunk. “Your braids are very pretty, ‘Las.”

Arwen squeaked and sat up, “’Las!? That is adorable! Can I call you ‘Las?”

Legolas opened his mouth to protest, though he didn’t know what he would say. How could he explain that the only person who had ever called him that was Thranduil? That the only person he would ever allow to call him ‘Las was Thranduil? How could he explain how much the nickname meant to him without raising suspicions about their relationship?

But he did not get the chance to protest, because Arwen became distracted. “Ooh! Is that a bottle of champagne!” She reached for it, but Thranduil held her back.

“No more champagne tonight, you’re nearly home,” Thranduil said patiently, his eyes distracted by the look on Legolas’ face.

“Home?” Arwen whined, pouting. “But I don’t want to go home. ‘Las, tell your father that I don’t want to go home.”

Legolas raised his eyebrows; obviously he had no say in the matter of his father’s pet name for him being appropriated.

“Ah, but we have an early start tomorrow. Remember? You’re coming over to me with your father to discuss some character specifics? You want to be fresh for that, don’t you?” Thranduil said gently. Arwen grumbled a little but nodded solemnly.

Legolas’ eyebrows crept higher up his forehead as they drove in silence; when the hell had Thranduil gotten so patient?

“Here we are,” Thranduil said, a few minutes later, as they pulled up outside Arwen’s apartment block. “Home.”

Arwen hummed and giggled, leaning across the seat to place a sloppy kiss on Legolas’ cheek, “Thanks ‘Las! I’ll see you on the flight!” she chirped, and laughed as Thranduil helped her out of the car.

Legolas was left alone for a few moments as Thranduil made sure Arwen was safely inside her apartment. While he had consumed an exorbitant amount of alcohol, the effects were fading and his head was beginning to clear. He wanted to run, he wanted to sprint from the car and never look back, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He knew he should, but he couldn’t.

Thranduil returned quickly, shaking his head at Arwen’s antics with a small smile playing on his lips. Though she was drunk and annoyingly chipper, she was sweet. He too had received a large kiss on his cheek as a thank-you for the ride. Thranduil had half expected Legolas to have darted from the car when he had been away, and he was pleasantly surprised to see him sitting where he had left him.

The ride was silent for a long few minutes as the driver of Thranduil’s limousine made his way to Legolas’ house. Legolas lived a fair distance from Arwen, and the car ride would be close to half an hour, but Legolas could not find a thing to say. He did not know if he was pleased or petrified when Thranduil made to turn to him and talk.

“Are you…” Thranduil tried. _Okay? Alright? Angry at me?_ “Do you want…” _Some water? Something? Anything? Me?_ “I’m glad that…” _You’re safe? You came with? You’re here?_

Legolas met his father’s eyes gradually, unused to hearing Thranduil fumble over his words.

Thranduil sighed and smiled sadly at his son. Legolas stared at his father for a long moment, before he turned his gaze out of the window.

“I’m not going to let you be fired,” Thranduil found his voice, and Legolas whipped his head around. “It doesn’t matter what you try to do, how you try to sabotage the film, I will not let it happen. You need this, Legolas, and I’m going to make sure you go through with it.”

Legolas’ face scrunched into a thunderous expression.

“Don’t even try to intimidate me. I know you, I know the way you think and I’ll always be one step ahead of you.” Thranduil tried to read Legolas’ expression, but the anger he saw there threw him. He was not used to Legolas being so angry.

“What the-” Legolas began, but Thranduil cut him off.

“And I swear to the gods, if you ever try to involve Arwen in your plans for anarchy again, I will let Elrond loose on you. She’s young, and a good kid, and you won’t like him when you mess with his only child.”

Legolas clenched his jaw, his eyes fuming with silent rage.

“Do you understand me?” Thranduil cocked an eyebrow at his son. Legolas only glowered back at him; his brow furrowed and his cheeks rippling where his teeth ground together. Thranduil took his son’s silence as understanding, and he turned to stare out of his window and watch the lights of L.A. pass by.

By the time the limo pulled up in front of Legolas’ house, he was ready to bolt inside and drink himself back into oblivion. But Thranduil grasped his arm and he flung the door open and took a step out.

Legolas looked back at his father with wide eyes that flew down to where they were joined.

“I won’t abandon you again, ‘Las,” Thranduil whispered, his eyes swimming in a thin layer of tears that he had been holding back, “I will not allow you to destroy yourself.”

Legolas ripped his arm from his father’s hold, stumbling backwards a little from the sheer force of the separation, before he spun and strode towards his front gate. He brushed at his cheeks as he walked, wiping at the wet lines that had begun to traverse his face.

But when he entered his house, when he slammed the door and blazed over to his kitchen to find himself a drink, he found that he could not tip the alcohol past his lips. He stood, trembling and heaving gulping breaths, with a full tumbler of whiskey ready. But he thought of Thranduil, and he thought of what he’d said, and he couldn’t take a sip.

_Gods, he hated him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thank you very much for reading! It is much appreciated! <3**
> 
> All the art for this fan fiction is provided by [plotbunniesincolour](http://plotbunniesincolour.tumblr.com/). Check out the [commissions section](http://plotbunniesincolour.tumblr.com/commissioninfo) if you would like any digital art for your blog/fan fiction/website.
> 
> **Have a lovely day! <3**


	6. Is There Somewhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying not to let it show, that I don't want to let this go.  
>  Is there somewhere you can meet me?  
>  'Cause I clutched your arms like stairway railings.  
>  And you clutched my brain and eased my ailing.
> 
> I'm sorry but I fell in love tonight.  
> I didn't mean to fall in love tonight.  
> You're looking like you fell in love tonight.  
> Could we pretend that we're in love?
> 
> \- [Is There Somewhere](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=686SmDtBOu8) (Halsey)  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there :)
> 
> I am taking this opportunity to apologise for my absence. Factors beyond my control have prevented me from writing, and I am sorry that I had to interrupt this. But I intend on producing one chapter a week from now on, until I finish this. Thanks to everyone who has stuck around for this. Every single comment just makes my day, and I so appreciate them.
> 
> So, if anyone is still out there and reading this, drop me a line down below and let me know <3
> 
> I highly suggest you listen to [Is There Somewhere](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=686SmDtBOu8) by Halsey while reading this chapter. It's beautiful and I have taken much inspiration from it for this chapter.
> 
> I hope this makes up for my absence somewhat <3  
> x

 

[ ](http://s284.photobucket.com/user/loveactuallyfan91/media/IMG_0357_zps8544mjbs.jpg.html)

Legolas’ stomach flipped over and settled into an awkward churning. His face had drained of its ruddy pink colour as soon as they’d hit turbulence. He’d always hated the vile dropping and bumping of aircraft, and even the vodka he had consumed earlier could not prevent him from gripping tightly onto his knees and gulping. Legolas had his headphones in his ears and he was blasting music to try and distract himself. He shut his eyes and clenched his jaw shut. He breathed in a deep breath through his nose and tried to picture a calm, sunny beach – a paradise with clear waters and no shuddering aluminium.

But it didn’t help, and every dip and thump had Legolas shivering. He wasn’t stupid, and he understood all about Bernoulli’s theorem, lift, and turbulence, but it did nothing to ease his fears at that moment. He was still flying thousands of feet above the ground in a cage made of metal and plastic. He had always been afraid of flying, ever since he had been shoved onto a plane from Los Angeles to London to attend boarding school. He had flown economy back then, but the plush first class cocoon he was strapped into now did nothing to abate his fears.

Legolas’ eyes flew open on a particularly vicious bump and plunge, and his eyes scanned the darkened cabin instinctively. He had wondered if his father would remember his fear of flying. Thranduil’s eyes were sparkling at him in the darkness, and he couldn’t tear away from them. He was thrust back in time to when his father had clutched his hand and pressed soft kisses against his head as they encountered some nasty turbulence on their flight home from Italy. It had been an idyllic, decadent secret holiday many years ago, yet he still remembered the comforting thud of Thranduil’s heart and the strong press of his fingers.

Thranduil blinked and his fingers twitched. He itched to wrench his seatbelt apart and wrap Legolas in his arms, and it took all of his willpower to desist. Not only was the light on his screen demanding he keep his seatbelt fastened during the turbulence, but Thranduil was sure that Legolas would push him away. His heart ached with the realisation that he would never be able to hold Legolas again. He supposed he had realised it long ago, but to see his son so vulnerable and to be so helpless made anger and sadness twist together and settle heavy in his breast. Nevertheless, Thranduil watched Legolas carefully. He watched just in case he could do something to ease his fears.

The screen in front of him highlighted Legolas’ pretty features, and his deathly pale face was hollowed at the cheeks as he stared across the aisle at his father. A tiny muscle under Thranduil’s eye jumped as he saw the utter terror in Legolas’ eyes. He had come to know Legolas’ fear so well - he knew what would help; yet he could do nothing.

Legolas’ eyes slipped away from his father, and he looked heavenward. The mix of fear from the turbulence, and the sadness from his father being mere metres away from him, made the journey almost unbearable.

Thranduil slid his hand carefully to the silver buckle that rested across his hips. Legolas’ eyes darted down to where his hand had moved, and then he flicked his gaze upwards. Thranduil could not tell if it was a pleading want or a standoffish horror that blared out at him through his son’s eyes. He was just about to throw caution to the wind, rip his seatbelt off and dart across the aisle to take Legolas’ hand when the turbulence dissipated and there was a ding above him as the ‘fasten seatbelt’ signs were turned off. Thranduil swallowed thickly and let out the breath he had been holding.

A shadow of disappointment descended over Legolas’ heart, yet he did not let it show. He merely unclenched his hands from his knees and leaned backwards. He closed his eyes once more and scrubbed his fingers over his sweaty face. He rubbed at his temples and licked out at his chapped lips, and then he undid his seatbelt; eager to be free of its confines. It clicked open and flopped down, and he tried to calm his raging heartbeat.

It wasn’t long before Legolas had pressed the call button and had ordered a few drinks for himself. The fright of the turbulence had rendered him stone cold sober, and he needed to maintain a buzz if he was to remain in view of Thranduil. It had been a horrific journey before the turbulence had began; he had been late, as usual, and he had almost missed the plane. Thranduil had been seated right across from him. The bar had run out of whiskey…

“Legolas?” It was Arwen. She was sitting further down the cabin with her father and had wound her way through to him in the darkness. It was well past midnight, and most of the cast were asleep around them.

“Yeah?” Legolas whispered, his voice cracking. Arwen perched on the edge of his cocoon, her eyes big.

“Are you alright? You looked a little sick during the bumps.”

Legolas sighed and scrubbed a shaky hand down his face and then back through his hair. “I’m fine, really. I’m just not a huge fan of turbulence.”

Arwen nodded and patted his knee comfortingly. “Me neither, I used to cry when I was little and was traveling to visit my father on set.”

“How did you get over it?” Legolas whispered.

“It helped when my father was with me. I was never very scared on our way home, when he was there. He always held my hand and told me that it would be okay, and that seemed to be enough.” Arwen shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant, but she kept her eyes trained on Legolas.

Legolas sipped his drink and looked down, avoiding Arwen’s gaze. She cocked an eyebrow and slid her eyes across the cabin, to where Thranduil was straining out of his seat to see them. He quickly sat back and fiddled with the headphones that were draped around his neck.

Arwen sighed as both beautiful blondes avoided her. She patted Legolas’ knee once more and stood to leave, picking her way through the cabin once more.

“Legs?” Tauriel’s sleepy voice filtered through Legolas’ hazy mind. She had slept through the entire bout of turbulence and now peeked over the partition between their seats to glance at him. She glared at the back of Arwen’s head as she retreated. “What did _she_ want?”

Legolas cleared his throat, took a giant sip of vodka that was clenched in his hand, and raised his eyebrows. He could feel Thranduil’s eyes watching him. He squirmed. “Nothing.”

“Get me a gin and tonic.”

Legolas took another sip. “Call the steward.”

“My button doesn’t work.”

“Use mine.”

“Legolas…”

“Have some vodka.”

“I don’t want vodka! Just get me a drink!”

Legolas couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“ _Legolas!_ ”

Legolas pushed up from his seat with his teeth clenched and his eyebrows set in a straight line. It was easier for him to trudge up to the front of the cabin and ask the hostess to make a gin and tonic than to argue with Tauriel. Even though he would be in rehearsal for the next few days, and then following a rigorous filming schedule thereafter, she had insisted on accompanying him to Paris. He had found it easier to merely relent; she always got her way in the end and he didn’t need any more stress in his life than there already was.

But when Legolas pushed passed the small curtain that blocked off the passenger cabin from the service area and bathrooms, there was not a steward to be seen. He sighed, dreading Tauriel’s grating voice berating him for returning sans alcohol, when he spotted the drinks trolley. He threw a quick glance through the curtain before he crouched down and began to rifle through the teeny tiny bottles of booze.

Legolas found the gin and the small cans of tonic relatively quickly, but he continued to rummage. He stocked his back pockets with some particularly potent looking shots of tequila - he would need to be fully stocked if Thranduil kept looking at him as he had been.

“Legolas?” It was a whispered breath behind Legolas, and he started and knocked his head against the trolley. He straightened up with one hand grasping the top of his head and his eyes closed in a grimace of pain. “Gods, are you alright?”

Legolas just wished everyone would leave him the hell alone. He rubbed at the bump on his head and cracked his eyes open. Thranduil’s eyes were wide and he had both hands extended out, just short of touching Legolas. His headphones were still hanging around his neck, and the cord and jack hung limply across his chest and down to dangle at his side.

“No, I’m not all-fucking-right,” Legolas grumbled, still massaging his head. He definitely needed another drink should Thranduil want to have a _conversation_. He didn’t meet his father’s eyes; he just unscrewed a bottle of tequila and threw it back in one go. It burned, searing his throat with blissful, distracting pain, and he felt some of the tension gathered in his shoulders disappear.

Thranduil stood and watched, his eyebrows knit together, as his son gulped down a second shot of tequila. He reached into his pocket and produced a third. And then he reached for his fourth.

“ _Legolas!_ ” Thranduil made to step forward. He didn’t know quite what he intended to do; perhaps manhandle the alcohol away from his son and drag him back to his seat. But Legolas looked up at him with such venom that it stopped him in his tracks.

“ _What?_ ” Legolas spat, glaring Thranduil down. Alcohol had always made him bold.

Thranduil took a deep breath. “We have a hectic schedule when we land. Perhaps you should get some sleep?”

Legolas narrowed his eyes and unscrewed the tiny bottle of tequila that he held in his hand. He deliberately, and very slowly, raised it to his lips, and then downed it in one. He placed in onto the top of the trolley with a light smack. His nose was ruddy from the alcohol and the adrenaline.

“ _Go fuck yourself._ ”

Thranduil’s temper had been held tenuously in check until that moment. Legolas caught the flicker of danger too late, and he was already trying to push past his father to re-enter the cabin. He squeaked as he was grasped at the collar and pushed backwards against the scratchy plastic cabinets of the service area.

“Legolas!” Thranduil growled, and Legolas squirmed. He had had enough of his father pushing him around.

“Get off of me!” Legolas rasped, bottles of alcohol clinking together in his pants. Thranduil reached into his pants, extracted the bottles, and tossed them back into the drinks trolley.

“What is _wrong_ with you? I thought I made myself clear about not letting you self-destruct!” Thranduil was up close, breathing right into Legolas’ face. He held tightly to his collar even as he writhed underneath him, desperate to get free.

“You can’t save me,” Legolas mumbled, pushing against the strong body that had him pinned.

Thranduil’s brow scrunched together and his eyes pulled down in exasperation, “Why not? Why can’t I save you? _Why won’t you let me?_ ”

Legolas stilled his struggling. He focused on a point on the wall above his head as he whispered: “Because you _destroyed_ me.”

Thranduil paused for a horrific moment, and then his shoulders slumped and he dropped his head. His fingers slid from where they were wound into Legolas’ collar, and his hands flopped to his sides, hanging limply. Legolas blinked and bit at the lining of his cheek, trying to hold back tears that had unexpectedly sprung to his eyes.

“And you never even apologised for it.” The words had fallen from Legolas’ mouth before he had a chance to check them. His heart demanded that they be said, and he could tell that they wounded his father even further. He slumped a little more, and his face drained of its colour.

“You tossed me away when I became too inconvenient for you. You completely cut me off, without explanation, and I was left alone.” Legolas could not believe his voice had remained stable. He was barely holding himself together inside, yet his words came out strong and true, even though they were whispered. He had waited five years for this moment of confrontation. “And then you made _that_ press statement… and that… that photo of you and… _him_ …”

“Oh, gods,” Thranduil breathed. And then he saw all the destruction he had caused reflected back at him in Legolas’ eyes. “Iôn-nín, _I am so sorry…_ ”

It was all Legolas had wanted to hear for so many years. His harsh veneer cracked down the centre, and his face crinkled as Thranduil reached up to cup his cheeks. He squirmed a little in the embrace, shaking his head as if it would help, but it was only a shadow of himself that fought against Thranduil’s touch. He needed it, he _craved_ it, and he had missed it so very much.

“’Las…I-” Thranduil began, but was interrupted by the clinking of bottles and plates. Legolas’ eyes widened as he realised that they were about to be caught in an exceptionally compromising situation. He opened his mouth in shock and his hands came up to Thranduil’s chest to push him away, yet he didn’t get the chance.

The last thing Legolas saw was the twitching of the divider curtain, before he was pushed backwards into the tiny space of the on-board toilet. And he wasn’t alone. Thranduil was inordinately tall for an airplane bathroom, and being squashed into the tiny space with Legolas left very little room for movement. Thranduil had pressed Legolas backwards hurriedly, and had to crush himself up against his body so that they would fit. Legolas could feel every inch of his father’s strong body moulding to his – _gods_ ; he was still in good shape. They were pressed so close that Legolas was sure his father could feel the thudding of his heart against his chest.

“ _’Las…_ ” Thranduil breathed, and the silence that filled the tiny spaces between them was only permeated by the roaring of the aircraft’s engines. Their noses touched, and Legolas shivered. He could hear the noises of the stewardess right outside of their hiding place, and his blood began to sing through his veins, fuelled by adrenaline and tequila. He would forever blame the tequila for what happened next.

Their mouths were together before either of them could utter another word. Legolas would not remember who had made the first move, but perhaps they had both relented at the same time. It was such a familiar, comforting feeling to have Thranduil’s lips on his once more, that Legolas clean forgot all of his debilitating pain. He felt whole, for the first time in many years, and he lost himself in his father’s lips.

Thranduil was sure he was dreaming; he was sure he had fallen asleep and was twitching restlessly as he kissed his son in his tortured mind. He’d had many a dream of being reunited with his lover, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he were pulled from the bliss that was Legolas’ lips into a cruel reality. Yet Legolas felt so real. When he threaded his fingers through his hair, it was as soft as he remembered. When he gasped and invaded Legolas’ mouth with his eager tongue, he tasted the same as he always had. Tinged with tequila, but the same nonetheless.

Legolas shut his eyes tightly and gripped onto his father’s forearms, steadying himself as his mind spun out of control and he became lightheaded. Thranduil dug his fingernails into Legolas’ skin as he gripped him, trying to hold them both up as his knees began to tremble. Gods, it was so good to feel Legolas once again.

They had to break apart for oxygen after a few moments, but neither lingered very long. Thranduil sucked in a ragged gasp of air, moaned out a rushed; “ _Gods, Legolas…_ ” and then claimed his son’s pink lips as though he would die should he not kiss him.

Legolas was swept along with his father’s passion, and he sagged into Thranduil’s affection. He slid his hands along his father’s soft sweater, up his strong arms, and buried his trembling fingers into the fine hair at his temples. He sighed when Thranduil pushed past his lips once more. He had missed the complete command of his body that Thranduil had. Legolas was hard and ready within seconds of his father touching him – his body remembered the pleasure, and it betrayed him once more. His cock pounded with want, and he pressed his hips against his father’s.

Thranduil thought he might collapse when he felt the tell-tale hardness of Legolas’ cock against him. He had not dared to believe that his son could ever want him again; he had tried to accept that he would never get the chance to feel him again. But now that he was reminded of how beautifully perfect Legolas truly was, and how much he craved him, Thranduil realised that he would never be able to forget. Though Legolas had aged right along with him, he seemed just as innocent and beautiful at that moment as when their lips had touched for the very first time.

“’Las…” Thranduil mumbled into their kiss, his words being swallowed by Legolas’ ravenous mouth. “ _’Las-nín…_ ” He tried again, making to pull back a little. Though he wanted Legolas’ mouth and cock more than he could say, he wanted all of him more. He wanted to see the love that used to be sparkling in his son’s eyes.

“ _Don’t,_ ” Legolas growled and silenced Thranduil with his lips, his eyes still tightly closed. Before Thranduil could utter another word, Legolas had slipped the buckle of his belt loose and had his hand past the waistband of his pants. Thranduil cursed and gasped when his son’s hand closed around the hard flesh of his cock. He cursed again when Legolas twisted his hand expertly and buried his nose in the crook of his father’s neck.

Great gulps of hot breath puffed out against Thranduil’s jaw, and his eyes rolled shut in surrender. If this was all Legolas was willing to give, he would take it. He was too painfully lonely to resist, even when he knew he should. He gripped out onto Legolas’ cheeks, clasping onto his cheekbones and digging his fingertips into the pliable skin of his face. Legolas growled again, yet this time it was unintelligible and guttural, as though he was holding back all the words that wanted to spill from his mouth.

Thranduil endured the tortuous pleasure of Legolas stroking his cock for a few more seconds, before he moaned - deep and dirty and right into his son’s pointy ear. He forced them both as far backwards as they could go; shoving Legolas up to sit upon the pathetic excuse for a washbasin. Legolas’ hand slipped from him, and Thranduil keened pitifully in want. He braced his hands on either wall of the corner of the tiny bathroom cubicle and pulled himself up between Legolas’ legs, capturing his lips once more when their groins met.

A faucet was digging into his back, but Legolas barely felt it. All his attention was being held by the way Thranduil plundered his mouth and ground their hips together. His cock was pulsing, the friction unbearable as the fabric of their pants rubbed together. Legolas was shaky and fumbling, and he couldn’t feel the tips of his fingers, but he threw his arms around Thranduil’s neck and held on for dear life as they rutted.

It was so very wrong. Legolas’ mind was screaming that it was wrong, but his heart swelled and burned white hot with exhilaration. For five long years he had been deprived of the pleasure that was now exploding in his veins, and he was greedy for more. Not only had he been denied Thranduil’s wondrous touch, but he had also been denied his own desires. Gimli made sure he never had the chance to form any attachment with a man, and now all his repressed needs spilled forth. He had forgotten how much he loved the strong arms of a man, the hard press of a muscled chest, and the insistent rubbing of a perfect cock against his. He had forgotten who he was.

A stuttered gasp against Legolas’ cheek drew him from his reverie, and he gripped onto Thranduil tighter, grinding back against him. He grimaced and groaned right into Legolas’ mouth. The vibrations ricocheted around Legolas’ mind, and his cock jumped and twitched in pleasure. The pair had found a rhythm of delicious push and pull that had them both on edge. Legolas could do little else other than lose himself in the languid forward stroke of his father’s hips and the rushed stutter of his backwards motion as he worked their erections together.

It was familiarly beautiful, and tears sprung up behind Thranduil’s eyes as he pleasured Legolas. It was quick and hurried and messy and completely, catastrophically raw, but they both needed the release. Thranduil found that release when Legolas grasped his ass, leaned upwards, and sunk his teeth into the smooth skin just below his jaw. His eyes widened, his stomach contracted, there was a tingling in the back of his strong thighs, and then he was coming. A wet patch grew across the front of his dark pants, yet he kept rubbing himself against his son; still drawing decadent moans from Legolas’ pretty mouth.

And then Legolas gasped and twitched and went limp underneath him, and he slowed, merely shuddering. The sounds of the airplane’s engines blared around them once more, their hearing returning to normal when not affected by the haze of sex. Suddenly, Thranduil felt a weight slide across his heart, and he pulled back a little to look down at his panting son.

“Legolas…” Thranduil said on a puff of breath, his voice seeming small and far away. But Legolas did not answer. He opened his eyes, but kept them resolutely downcast as he tried to regain his breath. His cheeks were flushed bright red and his hair was a mess. His shirt was stretched about the collar, and it sat skew on his shoulders. “Legola-”

Legolas grit his teeth and pushed at Thranduil’s chest, cutting off his words. He made to push past him in the small space, but Thranduil blocked his way and clung onto his wrist.

“Legolas, please!” Thranduil begged.

Legolas ripped at his father’s grip, succeeding in pulling his hand away.

“You can’t go out there like that!” Thranduil rasped, “Please…”

Legolas looked down to the wet stain over the front of his pants, and then he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He looked like he had just been fucked in an airplane bathroom. He hurriedly began smoothing his hair down and readjusting his shirt. He ripped at the paper towels next to the sink, and he patted the wet area over his cock.

“ _Please… don’t go._ ”

Legolas’ eyes flicked up to glare at Thranduil in the mirror. He looked as though he would crumble should he leave him. Some perverse side of Legolas growled in approval. He wanted to make Thranduil hurt as much as he had been hurting.

“This was a mistake,” Legolas said flatly. “Never touch me again.”

Thranduil’s face crumpled and Legolas felt twisted delight well up in his heart. He gave his pants one last dab, and then he was gone; disappeared out of the plastic bathroom door without a second glance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thank you very much for reading! It is much appreciated! <3**
> 
> All the art for this fan fiction is provided by [plotbunniesincolour](http://plotbunniesincolour.tumblr.com/). Check out the [commissions section](http://plotbunniesincolour.tumblr.com/commissioninfo) if you would like any digital art for your blog/fan fiction/website.
> 
> **Have a lovely day! <3**


	7. Young Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  The bittersweet between my teeth  
> Trying to find the in-betweens  
> Fall back in love eventually
> 
> As it withers  
> Brittle it shakes  
> Can you whisper  
> As it crumbles and breaks  
> As you shiver  
> Count up all your mistakes  
> Pair of forgivers  
> Let go before it's too late  
> Can you whisper 
> 
> \- [Young Blood](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0YuSg4mts9E) (The Naked and Famous)  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I highly suggest you listen to [Young Blood](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0YuSg4mts9E) by The Naked and Famous while reading this chapter. It encapsulates the exact feeling that I would like this chapter to have. So please, give it a chance <3
> 
> So, I realise that I haven't posted any fan fiction for ages. Don't worry, I am still alive and well :) I have merely started school. I am super happy but also super busy, which has prevented me from writing. But I was on a break and just had to get this out. Thank you for the continued support on this piece and the comments, kudos and subscriptions that have kept trickling in. It really means so much that people are still reading my writing. 
> 
> Though my next term will be a busy one, I hope to have another chapter up soon <3 I hope everyone out there is well!  
> x

 

  
[ ](http://s284.photobucket.com/user/loveactuallyfan91/media/SAOAR%20Chapter%207_zpsicy2t2at.jpeg.html)

“What do you think?”

Leaf dappled sunlight streamed onto Legolas’ pale face.

“Hm.”

The trees outside shook with the wind, casting dancing shadows across Legolas’ prominent cheekbones. He closed his eyes against the flickering light.

“Not good?”

“It’s not… It’s just…”

Legolas closed his eyes as a hand smoothed across his shoulders and tugged at the seam of his jacket shoulder.

“Maybe if we…?”

“Yes. Maybe.”

Legolas’ chest heaved as a deep breath was sucked into his lungs. He was exhausted.

“Maybe we should…?”

“Yeah. Yes… Go and get him.”

Hot fear lanced through Legolas’ veins, and his eyes shot open. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, and squashed down his urge to protest.

“Is he…?”

“He’s in a production meeting upstairs. Pull him out.”

Legolas’ jaw twitched as his teeth ground together. Footsteps retreated from the room and an insistent hand tugged at his jacket.

“I’m sorry this is taking so long, Legolas, but we’ll be done soon. We’ll have you out by lunch.”

Legolas hid his discomfit well, and he shooed away any apologies with a flick of his hand.

“It’s alright, Galadriel.” It was a weak attempt to prove he was coping, and he received a sympathetic smile from the woman in front of him.

“You must be exhausted, darling. It’s a long flight, and you’ve jumped straight in.”

Legolas shrugged and fiddled with a stray piece of thread that dangled from his cuff. Galadriel, ever the perfectionist, snipped it off expertly within seconds and he was left to pick at his fingernails.

“Get some rest when you leave, yeah? How’s your hotel?” Galadriel eyed Legolas’ nervous fidgeting.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, “It’s… pretty.”

Galadriel quirked a perfectly shaped eyebrow and paused for a moment. She considered the odd behaviour of the actor before her for a few seconds. Legolas looked utterly tortured. He had deep, dark circles ringing his eyes, and his cheeks were hollowed into pale, washed out skin. His blonde hair hung limply across is back, its ends frayed and broken, and his fingers were never still. He fiddled, he scratched, and he rubbed at the skin between his thumb and forefinger until it was red. Though he did not complain, Galadriel could feel the unhappiness emanate from him in great waves.

“ _Legolas_ -” Galadriel began, her voice soft and comforting. She stepped forward, trying to meet Legolas’ eyes, but was interrupted by the return of her assistant.

“…It’s more of a cosmetic issue… though we may need to change more than a few details to get the fit right…”

Galadriel’s eyes lingered on Legolas for a moment before she turned away. Her assistant strode across the room, grumpy Thranduil in tow. Legolas took a deep breath and glued his eyes to the floor in front of himself.

“What is so important that I had to be dragged out of a producers meeting?” Thranduil growled, stalking over to Galadriel.

She smiled, nonplussed. “We may have to rethink our concept for the costume for the fifth scene,” she motioned to the suit that Legolas was draped in. Instead of looking at the offending costume, Thranduil kept his eyes trained on Galadriel.

“What changes are needed?”

Galadriel tilted her head and walked over to Legolas, who looked as though he was trying to make himself blend into the curtains as much as possible. She grabbed on to the jacket at the shoulder and began pulling at the seam. Legolas gulped and raised his eyes slowly.

“I know you wanted to suggest the same aesthetic as the costumes we used a few years ago, but this will have to be cut differently for Legolas’ body…”

Thranduil’s blue eyes stilled the world for Legolas when he finally met them. Galadriel’s voice faded away, leaving the thudding of his heart to take over his senses. His temples pounded with blood. He couldn’t swallow, and he battled to breathe. Thranduil made his mind stall and stutter and flick into complete panic mode. Visions of the day before seared themselves against Legolas’ eyelids as he closed them, hoping to rescue himself from his father. But all he found was memories of Thranduil’s hot breath against his neck and his hard cock against his own. Legolas sucked in a steadying breath and picked another spot on the floor to stare at.

“… if that is the direction you would like to go, I can do it fairly quickly. But the decision has to be made now,” Galadriel finished, still fighting against the problems in Legolas’ costume. Silence greeted her words. She stopped tugging on Legolas’ sleeve and cleared her throat.

“Thranduil?”

Legolas peeked upwards, only to glimpse his father dragging his eyes away from him and over to Galadriel. “Yes, yes… That’s fine.”

Galadriel eyed the pair of blondes for a beat, before she rattled off a list of items for her assistant to fetch. He disappeared in an instant, and Galadriel began inserting pins into Legolas’ jacket.

“Is that all?” Thranduil asked, already backing away. He looked to his watch.

“Actually, darling,” Galadriel mumbled, three pins clenched between her teeth and her nimble fingers spreading a tape measure down Legolas’ arm, “Can you hold this?”

Thranduil hesitated, and only moved when Galadriel shot him a look. He dutifully stepped over to Legolas, clasping the end of the tape measure. “This is not exactly what I meant when I asked if that was all…”

Legolas turned his face away, staring back out of the window.

Galadriel was rummaging around in a sewing box and hummed and mumbled an answer as Thranduil stood, pressing the metal tab at the end of a the tape measure against his son. Legolas’ words from the previous day echoed in Thranduil’s mind.

_“Never touch me again.”_

Thranduil’s fingers faltered. He was standing close enough to Legolas to smell his aftershave. It was such a familiar scent and brought back such vivid memories that Thranduil’s voice hitched and stuttered as he said, “Galadriel, I have to get back to-”

“Damn. Darling, just give me one second, I seem to have misplaced my chalk…” Galadriel said as she hurried from the room, leaving Thranduil and Legolas alone, “… I’ll be right back.”

Thranduil’s mouth fell open, his lips parting in a belated protest, but Galadriel had already vanished. Thranduil was left standing close to his son, holding a tape measure against him, and resolutely avoiding any kind of eye contact. A silence, permeated only by the sound of the Parisian traffic below, reigned between them. They were locked in an awkward tableau, waiting for the relief that Galadriel’s return would bring.

Eventually, the pair was spared their torment by the trilling of Thranduil’s cell phone. Reaching awkwardly into his trousers, Thranduil extracted the device while keeping on hand pressed against Legolas’ shoulder.

“What?” Thranduil barked.

Legolas shut his eyes and tried to enjoy the warmth of the sun against his face. He tried to shut out the sound of Thranduil’s deep voice.

“Yes, I know. I’m… I’m busy with Costume, I’ll be back in a few moments.” Thranduil growled into the phone.

Legolas swallowed thickly and licked out over his dry lips.

“I know that, yes. Tell him I am dealing with an important issue here and ask him to wait.” Thranduil ended the call without waiting for a response. He slipped his phone back in to his pocket, all the while keeping the tape measure against Legolas’ arm. He sighed and rubbed at his temples with his free hand, dragging his fingertips over hollowed cheeks.

After a few seconds, Thranduil glanced over to the door.

“Go, I’ll do it.” Legolas said softly, reaching up a hand to hold the tape measure against himself. His fingers brushed against Thranduil’s, grazing their skin together, but neither recoiled from the contact. They both merely stood with their hands touching. Thranduil’s eyes were pulled to Legolas’ face, and he studied the way his son’s profile caught the flickering light of the window. He noticed the way his eyes appeared sunken in, noticed the way his cheeks seemed to hollow under his cheekbones, and saw how the sparkle that he expected to find in his eyes had disappeared. He supposed it had been gone for a very long time.

“ ’Las-” It was involuntary on Thranduil’s part; he had no plan about what he would say.

Legolas closed his eyes and braced himself.

“Gods, sorry you two… I eventually found some!” Galadriel trilled as she hurried back in to the room. Thranduil immediately removed his hand from Legolas’ shoulder and took a shaky step backwards.

“Great, great,” Thranduil mumbled, and hastened from the room as fast as he possibly could. Galadriel set about marking the sleeve of Legolas’ jacket, barely even using the chalk in favour of pins.

Legolas stared aimlessly out of the window once more.

“You have chalk hanging around your neck,” Legolas whispered, his eyes vacant. Galadriel shrugged, the corner of her lips pulling up into a smirk.

**\---**

Legolas rubbed at his neck as he rode the elevator down to the lobby of the hotel. The production meetings and costume fittings were taking place at the centrally located Four Seasons, while he and a few of his cast mates were staying at accommodation further out of the city. Evidently, his father remembered how much he hated hotel rooms and had made sure that they were staying at a small inn in a tiny town that bordered Paris. In fact, if Legolas had not known better, the quaint little village would have made the most perfect romantic getaway. It was the kind of place that he and Thranduil used to disappear to years ago. It brought Legolas back in time to all the beautiful days he had spent blissfully unaware of his future.

Legolas had to shake himself out of his thoughts as the elevator reached its destination and deposited him on the ground floor. He hitched his jacket tighter around himself, pulled the hood over his hair, and trailed through the ornate lobby. His costume fitting had run spectacularly over time, yet Galadriel had been happy about how the end product would turn out. The sun was just beginning to fall from its zenith in the sky, and Legolas was looking forward to a long soak in a bathtub and a stiff drink to make him forget about his day.

As Legolas neared the front doors, expertly ducking his head to avoid being recognised, a sound that had once been so familiar to him floated over to his ears. He stopped dead and his eyes were drawn to the source of the noise. He had hoped that he would never have to hear that voice again…

“It’s ridiculous that I’m not being included in this…”

“I know, I know… I’m working on it.”

Legolas padded over to a small conference room. The door had been left slightly ajar.

“Working on it? You’re three days away from starting principal photography, Thranduil!”

“I realise that, and I’m working with Elrond and the production team-”

“We had a deal.”

Legolas was close enough to peek through the slit in the door. He glimpsed his father sitting rigidly in a boardroom chair. Close to him another sat, his messy brown hair scraped back into a low bun.

“I know we did-”

“It’s good to hear you still remember, after all of these years…”

Legolas watched with wide eyes as the man sitting across from his father reached forwards and brushed a piece of stray blonde hair out of Thranduil’s eyes. Pain gnawed at Legolas’ abdomen and bile rose up into his throat.

Thranduil recoiled from the touch and stood up, raising himself to his full height.

“I have told you that I will honour our agreement. I would appreciate it if you would now leave me to do just that.” Legolas could hear barely restrained hatred oozing from every syllable. The man stood to his feet, though he was no match for Thranduil’s height. He had to turn and look up into Thranduil’s eyes, and finally his identity was confirmed.

_Bard._

“I’m staying at the Mandarin. Feel free to stop by if you’re… bored?”

Thranduil sniffed at the suggestion and he turned his head just in time to see Legolas standing frozen at the door, his eyes wide and his eyebrows scrunched together. They held each other’s gaze.

“ _Legolas._ ”

Bard scoffed. “Really? You’re still hung up on Legolas when he is the cause of all of this?”

Legolas fought the tears that had suddenly welled up behind his eyes.

“For gods’ sake, Thranduil, after everything that we went through five years ago, you’re telling me you’d wreck it all for him?”

Thranduil whipped his head around, his hair fanning out behind him, and fixed Bard with an icy stare that made him take a small step backwards.

“Perhaps it would be best if you left without saying another word.”

Bard set his jaw, gave Thranduil one last glare, and then spun on his heel to exit the room. Thranduil followed him out, his eyes searching around for Legolas’ retreating form, but he saw nothing. He stood for a few seconds, his heart sinking deeper and deeper into his chest, before he gave up and rode the elevator back up to the many meetings that still lay ahead.

**\---**

A bath and a large whiskey relieved some of the aches that wracked Legolas’ pale body, but did absolutely nothing to relieve the pain that festered within his heart. The bathroom was beautiful. The walls and floor were marble, and Legolas was resplendent in a claw foot bathtub that took centre stage in the room, yet the beauty was lost on him. All he could see was the gloom of his own depression hanging heavy around the room and clouding his mind.

Even the bubbles were lost on him. Once upon a time Legolas had delighted in long bubble baths with a certain gorgeous blonde cuddling him from behind, but those days were now just a distant memory. Now he seriously doubted that they had ever happened at all.

Legolas sighed, took a gulp of the sharp brown liquid he was swirling around in his glass, and ran a damp hand through his hair. He had been too exhausted to remove the braids from his hair when he had arrived home and now they clung to his scalp, wet and sad and pulling tight. His fingers were starting to tingle and feel numb from the drink, but he set the whiskey down and began to remove the braids from his hair sluggishly.

He worked them out, massaging over his skull as he did, and imagined for a brief second that they were another’s hands. When he could not bare the touch anymore, he submerged himself beneath the bubbles, revelling in the dulling of his senses.

He kept his eyes tightly closed and the water drowned out the roaring of the world to a dull mumble. His lungs began to burn for each lingering second that he spent underwater. His chest began to ache. His throat felt as though it was on fire. But he stayed there, submerged and happy to be distracted, until a muffled ringing began to pierce through the haze.

He broke the surface of the water unhurriedly but the ringing did not stop. If anything, it became louder. Legolas wiped the soapy water from his face with a shaky hand and blinked about the bathroom. The ringing continued, loudly and obnoxiously disturbing his wallowing. He sighed.

If Tauriel had forgotten her key _again_ …

Legolas pulled himself from the bath as best he could, slip sliding over the side, and hurriedly wrapped a small towel around his slim hips. His wet hair clung to his back and shoulders as he stumbled through his suite, cursing Tauriel with every step.

“ _Seriously, again_ -?” Legolas faltered and sucked in a great gulp of air as he flung the door open.

Thranduil stood, blue eyes wide and his finger poised over the doorbell. His gaze was immediately drawn to Legolas’ bare chest. Legolas was too surprised to respond. He merely stood in the doorway, dripping water onto the plush carpet.

And then the only word that he could fathom was a squeaky, “Ada?”

Legolas had not called Thranduil that in years. They both stared at each other, breathing heavily from surprise. The very last thing Legolas had expected was Thranduil, and Thranduil was thoroughly underprepared to deal with a wet and naked Legolas.

Legolas’ chest shone tantalizingly with stubborn droplets of water that clung to his pale skin. A tiny muscle underneath Thranduil’s right eye twitched. Legolas was so pale that the white towel around his hips almost blended into his skin. Legolas cleared his throat noisily and shut the door halfway, trying to cover himself a little, “What do you want?”

Thranduil swept his eyes upwards to Legolas’ face. His blue eyes were focused on a button on his father’s collar.

“I came to… I didn’t know you’d be… I’m sorry that I…”

It was so uncharacteristic for Thranduil to stutter his sentences that Legolas took pity on him and met his eyes. Thranduil gazed back at him with his lips parted.

Sounds of people approaching from down the corridor reached Legolas’ ears and shifted his eyes nervously. A familiar paranoia settled over them and Thranduil looked to the source of the approaching noise. By the time he glanced back at his son Legolas had pushed the door further open and disappeared inside. He followed quickly, shutting himself and Legolas away quietly.

Thranduil padded in to the large suite tentatively, suspicious at being granted access so easily. Legolas had disappeared into the bathroom, but when he returned he had not bothered to cover any more of himself. Instead, he had the tumbler of whiskey in his hand. Thranduil glared at the alcohol but said nothing.

“Well?” Legolas said in between sips.

Thranduil took a steadying breath. “Today, you saw me and…”

“Bard.” Legolas sneered, finishing off the whiskey and grimacing.

“He wants a part in the film, that’s all.”

Legolas gave a half shrug and stared at the floor.

“I’m trying to find a small role for him, one that will not bother you…”

Legolas nodded. He couldn’t meet Thranduil’s eyes while he spoke of Bard; it was far too painful.

Thranduil ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t say no to him.”

Legolas gave a little shrug of his shoulder and Thranduil sighed. He preferred it when Legolas was angry and shouting at him. The silent shrugging cut through his heart like a knife.

Seeing no other avenue of conversation, Thranduil turned to leave. He was stopped by a small, tenuous voice that cracked and jumped.

“Are you two still… together?”

Thranduil had to make sure he had heard properly, before he spun around. “Together?”

“You and… him.”

Thranduil again had to make sure he’d heard correctly.

“We were never together.”

Legolas looked up. It was what he had wanted to hear for years, yet he had trouble believing it. All the deception and lies had made him doubt everything.

Thranduil took a small step towards his son. “We were never together, Legolas.”

Legolas nodded.

Thranduil took another step. “You must know that it was all a lie. The statement, the photos, _all of it._ ”

Legolas wrapped his arms around his naked chest and closed his eyes. Thranduil kept advancing, step-by-step.

“It wasn’t real. It was for the cameras. It was all to try and protect you. There has been no one since…”

Legolas opened his eyes. Thranduil was standing right before him. His blue eyes beseeched his son to understand, but Legolas could not bring himself to trust his words.

“There will never be anyone else, ‘Las-nín.”

“Don’t call me _that_. I am not your… I am not that to you anymore.” Legolas felt a hot stripe streak down his cheek, yet he kept his face locked in a mask of indifference. Tears quickly clouded his vision to the point where he could barely distinguish that Thranduil was standing in front of him.

“I will forever regret that you are not that to me anymore,” Thranduil whispered. Legolas sniffed and swiped at his cheeks, anger suddenly bubbling up from inside. His withered heart seemed to jolt back in to life then, and he was unable to restrain everything he had wanted to say.

“Why? Why did you do it?”

Thranduil blinked. It was more complicated than Legolas could ever imagine.

“I was trying to-”

“Protect me… yes! I know that. I know. But perhaps I did not want protecting? Did that ever cross your mind? Perhaps I would not have cared what happened to me, as long as I had you?” Legolas’ voice rose steadily as he spoke, his frustration causing him to ball his fists.

“Legolas-”

“Do you think I couldn’t have acted as though we did not have any contact? For gods’ sake, that’s my entire job! I could have pretended… I could have… I could have fucking acted! There was no need to cut me off!”

“It was not as simple as that-”

“Of course it was!”

“Legolas, please-”

“It was absolutely that simple!”

“You don’t know the entire story.” Thranduil mumbled.

Legolas reached his slender fingers into his hair and tugged on the roots as he almost shouted, “Tell me! Tell me why!”

Thranduil seemed to wrestle with himself for a few moments, his mouth contorting into a grimace of pain, before he hung his head.

A wry laugh flew from Legolas’ lips, and his hands flopped to his sides. Resignation passed across his features and he whispered; “Why don’t you just admit that you grew tired of me? Why don’t you put me out of my misery… please, I’m begging you for this one last thing. Just tell me that you got bored. Tell me that you finally had enough and wanted to move on.”

Thranduil looked up slowly, his blonde hair parting to reveal a pair of tired eyes. For a moment he hesitated, his words seeming to stick in his throat.

“I will not lie to you ever again, my darling,” he began, and Legolas grit his teeth in preparation for what may come. “I loved you then, just as I as I love you now, and I am sure that I will continue to love you until the day that I die.”

Legolas shook his head slowly.

“I realise that it is not what you want to hear, but I cannot lie to you anymore.”

“Please, just tell me that you don’t love me. Tell me that you hate me,” Legolas pleaded.

“I can’t.”

“ _Please_.”

“Legolas-”

“ _I hate you_ ,” Legolas tried weakly, even though he could hear that he sounded like a petulant child.

“I’m in love with you.”

“ _Ada_ …” Legolas panted, his heart contracting painfully. He clutched at his chest as he doubled over, his face contorting and his eyes squeezing shut. Strong hands gripped his shoulders and Legolas gasped as he was pulled against Thranduil’s broad chest. He grappled out with his hands, clutching at the soft sweater that his father wore and digging his fingers into his waist. One of Thranduil’s hands slid up Legolas’ neck, burying itself into the damp hair at the nape of his neck.

“I’m wet…” Legolas rasped out, but Thranduil merely scoffed and pulled his son against himself even tighter. Legolas let himself be enveloped by his father’s arms and he lost himself in the comfort of his strong chest and familiar scent. Thranduil rested his cheek against Legolas’ hair, not caring at all as he felt water soak through his clothes.

“I don’t hate you,” Legolas breathed quietly, finally admitting it to himself. Thranduil chuckled through the tears that had begun to trickle down his cheeks. Relief flooded through his body, making him feel giddy. Though Thranduil knew that they were far from the relationship they used to have, just feeling Legolas against him was enough at that moment. Just to hear something other than disgust in Legolas’ voice was enough. Wet hair and trembling hands was enough.

But then Legolas turned his face and buried his nose in the crook of his father’s neck, and Thranduil felt the hot press of lips against his skin. He stiffened and sucked in a gulp of warm air. He knew that he shouldn’t, but he was weak and tired and so grateful to have Legolas in his arms once again. So he let it happen. He let himself trail his fingers down his spine and trace patterns against his skin. He let his lips inch closer to Legolas’ own panting mouth. He let their breaths mingle and coalesce until he became faint with want.

Thranduil was so entranced by the familiar way that Legolas’ body moulded to his that he almost missed the tell-tale turning of a key in a lock. He almost missed the squeak of a door beginning to open. Almost.

Thranduil was apart from his son and smoothing down his hair in a moment. Legolas looked utterly disorientated for a second, confusion and fear mingling in his eyes, before his attention was drawn towards the doorway to his suite and the livid redhead who stood there, her eyes flicking between Legolas’ dishevelled hair and Thranduil’s damp sweater.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thank you very much for reading! It is much appreciated! <3**
> 
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> **Have a lovely day! <3**


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